


In his arms

by Corporate_Blood



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And I'm not sorry, Cuz fuck the show's ending, Deviates From Canon, Don't Have to Know Canon, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fangirl Reader, Feelings, First time writing these characters, Fluff and Humor, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm thristy for the Bae, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Inappropriate Humor, Might be Out of Character, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Robin is slowly becoming my son, Sansa is not into him, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Spans all the seasons, Unfinished, but an awkward bean, but the reader is, everyone is 18+, it's not really Sansa, no underage stuff going on here, the reader is a smart cookie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 68,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corporate_Blood/pseuds/Corporate_Blood
Summary: The dear Y/N is lamenting about Game of Thrones in typical fangirl fashion. While trying to study for her A-Levels, Y/N falls asleep -And wakes up in Westeros!She discovers she can enter Sansa's body and change the course of the show. How will she be able to save her favourite character Petyr Baelish? Will she be able to play the Game of Thrones as well as the other players?[Note: I've also done a Game of Thrones edit - check it out;this video]
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Reader, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/You
Comments: 77
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is still in progress...

Y/N sat at her desk, resting her head on her hands as she stared down at the open textbook before her. Overwhelmed with stress, her tired eyes scanned over the page but the words weren’t sinking in. Her mind drifted to Game of Thrones. She had gotten into it after the show ended (the last season being horrendous by all accounts) and one character had super imposed himself into her mind;

Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish.

Baelish indeed, she thought. She shook her head and tried to focus on the school work. Y/N drifted again, her thoughts lingering on Petyr and Sansa’s bittersweet relationship. God, she shipped them so much. Petyr deserved so much better, she concluded. A yawn overcame her and she rested her head down on the textbook. She closed her eyes, but only to rest them.

Just for a moment… 

* * *

“Sansa dear this is Lord Baelish, he’s-” A strange voice spoke. Y/N gave a slight jolt and looked around. She was no longer in her room. Instead, she was dressed in ladies’ finery and seated at a jousting tournament. 

“An old friend of the family,” came the voice of Lord Baelish himself. She turned her head to look at him. He stood beside her, and she felt her pulse quicken. She was too stunned to respond which was fine as, once he sat down next to her, Baelish continued speaking. “I’ve known your mother a long, long time.”

“Why do they call you Littlefinger?” Arya interrupted in that squeaky voice of hers.

“Arya!” She snapped, jumping slightly in surprise as she didn’t realise Arya was sitting beside her. 

“Don’t be rude,” the woman reprimanded. 

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Baelish said smoothly. Y/N (or, Sansa as she was in this dream) turned back to face him. The Stark sisters listened to Baelish’s answer. “When I was a child, I was very small. And I come from a little bit of land called the Fingers, so you see.” He glanced at Sansa, smiling. His smile was infectious, breeding a happiness in her that produced a smile of her own. “It’s an exceedingly clever nickname,” Baelish told Arya. The king then got cranky and ordered the jousting to start. A knight on horseback rode into view, the crowd cheering his arrival. Y/N had now cottoned on - her tired fangirl brain was dreaming up that she was in Game of Thrones, in Sansa’s place. This was the most realistic and coherent dream she had ever had so she wasn’t about to waste it. 

“Who’s that?” She asked Petyr, her awkward mind trying to come up with ways to make conversation with him. He answered her question but she wasn’t really listening to his words - she was far more interested in the raw sound of his voice. She caught that the knight that had just rode in was called ‘The Mountain’ and that he was ‘The Hound’s older brother.

“And his opponent?” She asked, attempting to keep her cool. Petyr replied, saying something about an ex-squire that has come far. The King got fed up with the formalities and sent them to start jousting. The knights rode off to their starting positions, a trumpet sounding once they had arrived. Y/N wracked her brain for clever or funny things to say to the man sitting next to her but she had nothing. Instead she stole glances, admiring his handsome features. 

Jousting pole thing and shield in hand, the knights set off. They charged down the track, passing each other without much action happening. They turned round and readied for another charge. They thundered towards each other, one pole splintering upon contact. Sansa screamed but wasn’t sure why until she saw the recently knighted squire fall off his horse. She sat there frozen, watching the squire bleed out on the ground. _Plug the artery_ , her mind yelled but no one, not even she, had the medical knowledge to pull that off. The downed knight choked and spluttered on his own blood, the foul noises heard over the stunned crowd’s silence. Her chest heaved as she willed herself to remember it was just a dream based on the first season of Game of Thrones. She stared down at the body as two men dragged it away.

Petyr leaned in to comment. “Not what you were expecting.” 

_No shit_ , she wanted to snap back but held her tongue. 

He leaned in again, dropping his voice to a low tone. “Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?”

She looked back to see the Hound and Petyr followed her gaze. “Lovely little tale of brotherly love,” he continued. “The Hound was just a pup. Six years old maybe. Gregor few years older. Already a big lad, already getting a bit of a _reputation_. Some lucky boy just born with a talent for _violence_. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire - Gregor’s toy. A wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted.” Petyr pulled away to examine Sansa’s reaction. Y/N didn’t have any - she had heard the story before, Petyr’s retelling bringing that memory to the surface. “They’re aren’t very many people who know that story.”

“I won’t go round retelling it,” she said, raising her gaze to meet his.

“If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I’m afraid all the knights in King’s Landing would not be able to save you,” he warned before pulling back, a strange smile upon his face. This left Sansa alone with her thoughts, her hands balling up the dress material. 

_“Y/N?”_ A faint voice called. She whipped around to her left but no one was looking in her direction.

 _“Y/N?”_ The voice called again. She twisted to her right. Lord Baelish quirked an eyebrow at her. She peered at him with a puzzled look, opening her mouth to say something -

* * *

\- And she was being shaken awake by her mother. She bolted upright, finding herself back at her desk.

“Y/N, you look quite tired, you should get some proper rest,” her mother advised. 

“Right you are, mum,” she agreed, slamming her textbook shut. Y/N’s mum didn’t quite know what to make of that response but she gave her daughter a smile, said goodnight, and then left the bedroom. Y/N was quick to get changed into her nightclothes and slip under the covers. Her mind was a whirl with questions from her vivid dream. She had been transported into the Game of Thrones universe, become Sansa, she had met and talked to Petyr - in her mind at least. It was more than her fangirl heart could handle and she squealed into her pillow before she pulled herself together. Lying on her back, she stared up at her ceiling as her musings began. It was just a dream, she reminded herself but it had felt impossibly realistic. She had felt the material of Sansa’s dress as clearly as she was feeling her soft duvet now. Petyr had stood before her, as solid and there as her mum had a moment ago. The seat she had sat on at the jousting had felt as real as her desk chair. She had a powerful imagination, but not that powerful. As much as it hurt her heart to admit, Petyr Baelish and the rest of the Games of Thrones cast were characters played by brilliant actors. They weren’t real people themselves. 

Y/N sighed heavily and turned onto her side, hoping she’d get a similarly nice dream as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...But the next few parts should be up soon! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! ^ _ ^
> 
> (Sorry about the kind of strange format, I couldn't get things right and so said "fuck it, that'll do")


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N returns to the land of Westeros in her next dream. She begins to doubt that these are really dreams at all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Enjoy ^_^

A dreamless night later, Y/N was woken by her alarm. School was still the bane of her existence, even as the end of her A Levels drew near. She reluctantly got up and dressed. All throughout the day, her thoughts were solely occupied with her Game of Thrones dream. There was no more room in her head for school work and so she became a ghost, paying lip service to the tasks her teachers set. This, admittedly, wasn’t much different to normal but she was even more detached now. Soon, but not soon enough, she was back home. Her mum asked her how her day was, an automatic “fine” was all the answer her mum got before Y/N dumped her bag down before heading up to her room. 

Once the door was shut, her mind began to reflect upon the dream. It was clearly a dream - magic didn’t exist and neither did Game of Thrones. Her fangirling was perhaps getting out of hand if one cool dream was enough to get in the way of her A Levels in a non helpful way. Her gaze flicked over to the closed textbook on her desk. Revising won’t push Petyr from her mind but she wanted to try and be productive. She sat heavily in her chair and opened the book to where she had left it off the evening before. Y/N skimmed over the page, barely taking it in, when a sleepiness overtook her. Yawning her head off, her head bowed forward, eyelids drooping down, she was fighting the losing battle against sleep. She arranged her arms to cushion her head and surrendered to sleep, hoping for a pleasant dream…

* * *

“Your father has proved to be an awful traitor, dear,” came the calm voice of Varys. A small jolt went through her again and it took her brain a moment to register what was happening. She was once again in Sansa’s place, sitting on a cushioned stool in some sort of chamber in a grand stone building. Opposite her sat Cersei; Varys standing to Cersei’s left, Pycelle to Cersei’s right, and Petyr standing just to the right of the chair. 

“King Robert’s body was still warm when Lord Eddard began plotting to steal Joffery’s rightful throne,” Pycelle informed her.

“He wouldn’t do that for he knows how much I love Joffrey,” Y/N replied, leaning into the character of season 1 Sansa. She then turned to look at Cersei. “Please your grace, there’s been a mistake. Send for my father, he’ll tell you. The King was his friend and had been so for many years.” Y/N was adding in some information as she recounted her Game of Thrones knowledge.

“Sansa, sweetling, you are innocent of any wrong. We know that. Yet you are the daughter of a traitor - how can I allow you to marry my son?” Cersei asked, tone even and eyes calculating. 

“A child born of a traitor’s seed is no fit consort for our King,” Pycelle added. “She’s a sweet thing now, your grace, but in ten years who knows what treason she may hatch?” 

Y/N felt her anger rise but stayed cool in order to deliver some justice for Ned Stark. “My father had honour and he instilled within me that same value. I do not know what has happened, or indeed what has come over my dear father, but I know this is very much not like him.” She then addressed Cersei directly. “Your grace, I know how much you love and care for King Joffrey. I would never betray nor harm him in any way. I would fulfil my duty as his loyal wife.” These words, knowing they could seal a fate as the brat’s torture toy, made Y/N sick to her stomach. And yet, even though the rational side of her mind was telling her this was all a dream, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Her flight or fight response was spiking to such a degree that her body was very certain this was real. And so, she swallowed her pride and true feelings, and did her best to get herself and Sansa out of this situation in a better position. 

“The girl is innocent, your grace,” Lord Baelish chipped in. “She should be given a chance to prove her loyalty.” Even though Y/N knew how this would all pan out, her heart still fluttered as Petyr came to her defence. 

Cersei took a moment to think before sliding a piece of parchment across the desk and to Sansa. “Little dove, you must write to Lady Catelyn and your brother the eldest - what’s his name?”

“Robb, your grace,” she replied gently.

“Word of your father’s arrest will reach him soon no doubt,” Cersei continued. “Best it comes from you. If you would help your father, urge your brother to keep the King’s peace,” she paused as she laid a white quill on top of the parchment, “tell him to come to King’s Landing and swear his fealty to Joffrey.”

A moment of silence descended as they studied her response. Y/N glanced over at Lord Baelish, feeling both her heart quicken and her mind calm. Knowing better than to press Cersei about Ned’s fate, Y/N picked up the quill. The moment she held the quill in her hand, the room started to spin violently. Her breath caught in her chest, the edges of her vision webbing with darkness. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed as blackness swarmed her vision. 

* * *

  
Y/N’s head reeled back, chest heaving as her breath grew frantic. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk, eyes blinking fast as she looked around.

She was back in her room, safe and sound. No evil queen was out to get her here.

Gulping down air, she worked to bring herself back to a more stable state. The emotions she had felt, the coherence and continuation of her previous ‘dream’, made her doubt what she had just experienced. _That was no dream_ , she thought, unable to face any other conclusion and daring not to put a label on this one. Y/N was aware of the trauma Sansa goes through and shuddered at the prospect of going through that herself. Recalling season 1, she reasoned she would next return in the place of Sansa when the Stark girl goes before King Joffrey. In how many sleeps time, she wasn’t sure. Y/N doubted she would return to King’s Landing as she rested in her bed and so made the wise decision to change and get an early night’s rest. She would need a sharp mind to deal with the cunning royal lions. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N has to navigate the tricky world of Westeros politics as she goes before King Joffrey to ask for leniency when it comes to the traitor Ned Stark...a tricky task to do when she knows it's all in vain

Y/N’s distractions had worsened and her A Levels were placed on the back burner. Instead, she focused upon re-watching season one, seeing all the mistakes Sansa made and debating whether she should repeat that. She had no idea about the boundaries of this body travelling. She did not know whether she could be killed while in Sansa’s place, nor how much her altered actions would change the course of the story. One thing she did want was to grow close to Petyr - accomplish the happy ending she had longed for in canon. She found herself sighing at her thoughts, bringing her strange looks from her classmates which in turn brought her back to reality. The school day dragged on and she took on-board even less, scurrying to her room quicker than the previous day. She brought out her laptop and watched the most likely scene to come up next.

There was Sansa, so young and frightened, on her knees before the King and his council as she begged for mercy for her father. She watched as all the wrong words tumbled out of Sansa’s mouth, pausing to jot down better things to say. Once the scene was finished, Y/N put her laptop aside before kneeling in front of her full length mirror. She began to practice her speech, perfecting her tone and expression. Once she had done so, she got up and made her way to the desk. Alternative speech clutched tightly in her hand, she sat down on her chair and opened up the textbook. A series of yawns started not a moment later and a quick glance at the words through closing eyes was all she was able to get before she was led into the world of Game of Thrones…

* * *

Y/N came to in King’s Landing, halfway through walking in the King’s court. She jolted and almost lost her footing as she made her way down the steps but she gracefully recovered. She made her way through the strange men, glancing back to see two guards in tow. She came to a stop, in line with the other subjects. Pycelle was reading aloud from a scroll, giving some honour or rank to a guard of some sort. Y/N wasn’t really able to pay attention, the blood roaring in her ears effectively drowning out the details. 

“In the place of the traitor, Eddard Stark,” Pycelle said, his words now being registered by Sansa, “it is the wish of his grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Castly Rock and Warden of the West, be appointed hand of the King.” He continued on but the words were filtered out. Y/N instead looked at Petyr. He stood next to Varys, both of them to the left of the Iron Throne upon which Joffrey sat. She caught his eye, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. He copied the motion in acknowledgement of her before they mutually broke eye contact. Pycelle finished his reading, which is when Cersei stood up. She called upon the Captain of the King’s Guard who stepped out before them. In a winding and not-very-to-the-point way, she congratulated him for his years of service before swiftly informing him that he was fired from his position. 

“Your grace, the King’s Guard is a sworn brotherhood. Our vows are taken for life. Only death relieves us of our sacred trust,” the Captain pointed out. His name was on the tip of Y/N’s tongue and yet she couldn’t recall it.

“Who’s death? Yours or your king’s?” Cersei countered. 

“You let my father die,” Joffrey spat. “You’re too old to protect anybody.” 

The Captain made to speak but Cersei quickly cut him off. “The council has determined that Sir Jamie Lannister will take your place as Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.”

_God, I’m really forgetting titles and names at a time like this?!_ Y/N’s panicking brain self roasted.

The silver haired Lord Commander made reference to Jamie killing his king - something Cersei took great offence to. Varys was quick to smooth over the heated exchange, explaining the rewards the Commander would receive in his retirement. 

“A hole to die in. And men to bury me,” the Commander spat. He then began to remove his cloak, gloves, and some amour which clattered to the ground noisily. “I am a knight. I shall die a knight.”

“A naked knight, apparently,” Petyr wittily retorted. Y/N had to bite the inside of her cheek to repress her laughter and stop herself from smiling. The other subjects allowed their laughs to be heard. This was brought to an abrupt end when the Commander drew his sword. The Guards stationed in front of the king drew theirs too. Silence hung over the standoff. 

“Even now I could cut through the five of you like carving a cake!” The Commander threatened. Another beat of silence followed. “Here, boy,” he said, throwing down his sword with an almighty clang. “Melt it down and add it to the others,” he barked his instructions before taking his leave, his footfalls the only sound anyone dared to make. Once the Commander was out of the doors, Cersei sat back down again. A man Y/N didn’t recognise asked if anyone else had any matters they wished to set before the king. She glanced around, realised there were no takers, and looked towards Joffrey.

“Your grace?” She politely inquired. 

“Come forward, my lady,” he replied.

She took a small breath to steady herself before stepping forward. She knelt before the king, anger bubbling inside her as she did so. “Your grace, you know what my father has done wrong. I don’t know why he has committed such a crime - this is certainly not the father I know.”

Pycelle began to interrupt her but Joffrey ordered him to let her speak. Sansa bowed her head in thanks.

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Petyr asked.

“Of course not, my lord. He has committed treason. I don’t know why he has, and I recognise he can’t go unpunished. All I ask is mercy. King Robert and my father have been close friends since they were children. My father didn’t seek power - he would not have become Hand if the King hadn’t asked him. Something must have happened, something few people were privy to.” 

“He said I wasn’t the king. Why did he say that?” Joffrey questioned.

“That I don’t know either, your grace. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy - perhaps this altered his mind to an uncharacteristic degree,” Y/N answered.

“Child’s faith. Such sweet innocence,” Varys mused aloud. Petyr squinted and turned his body slowly and slightly to look at the man beside him. It took all of Y/N’s self control not to burst out laughing at Petyr’s insanely relatable reaction. “And yet they say wisdom of’t comes from the mouths of babes,” Varys continued, not a single soul acknowledging to Petyr’s reaction.

“Treason is treason!” Pycelle roared as much as an old man could do so. 

“I don’t deny that, my lords,” Y/N gently added. 

“Anything else?” The king asked.

She shifted her gaze to make eye contact with him, going her best to slip into a love struck Sansa’s mind. “If you hold any affection for me - any your heart possesses - please do me this kindness, your grace.”

A silently flustered Joffrey sat back on his throne, taking a moment to consider her. She held his gaze but not in a challenging way. 

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I’m the King! Or there will be no mercy for him.” Joffrey told her, iron infused into his tone.

A flicker of fear, genuine fear, rippled through her body. She held still, hiding this reaction. She wanted to gain silent reassurance from Petyr but knew that would be a very unwise move. Instead she answered her king. “He will, your grace.” No sooner had those words left her mouth, the room began to spin violently. She gasped and fell forward, trying to keep her composure. It was no use and she blacked out on the cold stone floor.

* * *

Y/N awoke, her head and left side aching. She slowly sat up, not sure what to make of this. She could attribute it to sleeping in a strained position on her desk. Or she could attribute it to fainting on the stone floor as she had done while in Sansa’s place. A glimpse of the next scene entered her mind - Ned Stark’s beheading. Sansa’s screams bounced around her skull and tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t face to be in Sansa’s place then. She then picked up her box set of GOT DVDs and picked out the season one episodes. Nothing beyond the beheading scene. She flicked down to season two. Right as she scanned over the tenth and final episode, a memory flashed in her mind;

_Joffrey had just relinquished his claim on her. She was pretending to be heartbroken but was practically beaming. Petyr then caught up to her to give her some advice._

She took in a breath, gasping. She hoped that when she returned to Westeros, she would take Sansa’s place there and not at Ned’s beheading. She snapped the textbook shut and tumbled into bed, dreamless sleep greeting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 is here! I'm actually working a few chapters ahead (just finished writing chapter 6 as I post this) so you lot shouldn't be kept waiting long for the other chapters to be posted.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed ^_^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has just been cut lose by Joffrey but Petyr warns her that she wasn't really free. The beginnings of a plan are discussed by them, Y/N falling even more for him like the fan girl she is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is here! Thanks for the kudos and hits, I'm glad you're all enjoying. 
> 
> Enjoy the newest chapter ^_^

School. A beast that beat immense pressure onto her, only to deem her a useless failure when she failed to cope with it. Her class time was spent hypothesising about the strange ‘dreams’. She seriously doubted they were actual dreams, they were far too realistic and coherent, but magic can’t be real - right? That was absurd. She’d have to do some experimenting with how much her life here and her time in Sansa’s place were connected. Could she bring objects from there to here and vice versa? Could she be hurt or killed and stay that way in reality? Should she reveal her true identity to Petyr? Y/N very much wanted to have Petyr for herself but would he believe her or accept her? She sighed silently and resigned to plod along through the school day, switching her brain off and going ‘zombie mode’.

It was a race to get in the door and upstairs into her bedroom. She decided to change into her nightclothes first, making going to bed easier when she returned to reality. She pulled out her laptop and re-watched the scene from season two. It seemed fairly straight forward and even her panicky mind couldn’t balls it up. She shut her laptop and sat at her desk. As usual, she opened the textbook to the same page she had been on before and pretended to read the pages. Almost instantly, the sleepiness set in. Y/N paid lip service to a fight and brought her head down to rest…

* * *

Sansa was mid step when Y/N took her place. She felt a smile upon her face and quickly changed her expression to resemble heartbroken. 

“My Lady,” Petyr called out, walking over to her. She turned, her heart quickening slightly.

“My Lord,” she replied in a mournful way.

“My condolences,” he said, stepping close.

“They’re right - I’m not good enough for him,” she sadly said, gaze dropping slightly in false shame.

“You shouldn’t say that. That you’re good enough for many things. He’ll still enjoy beating you.” Petyr was talking in a strangely sincere way. He was gazing at her, a non decodable look in his eyes. She feigned shock in the small lull that hung between them. “And, now that you’re a woman, he’ll be able to enjoy you in other ways as well.”

This insinuation made her skin crawl but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “He’s not marrying me though,” she replied, aware of how naive and dumb she sounded.

“He’d let you go home?” He lightly scoffed and shook his head, a small smile of sympathy on his face. “Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys.” He raised her left hand and lightly touched her right arm. His touch caused a slight tingle and she was sure certain feelings glimmered in her eyes. This gave him pause. His expression shifted slightly and she saw an unmistakable hue of playfulness colour his face. Nevertheless, he continued as planned. “You have a tender heart - just like your mother did at your age. I can see so much of her in you.” This last bit didn’t ring true to Y/N but she didn’t interrupt him. “She was like a sister to me. For her sake, I’ll help get you home.”

“I’m not sure where home is,” she replied truthfully.

“Look around you, we’re all liars here. And every one of us is better than you,” he retorted. A corner of his mouth was tugged up in a teasing manner. He was toying with her, silently nudging her to confess. She stayed strong and stepped up to his challenge.

“I may not be a great liar, Lord Baelish, but the truth doesn’t scare me. I’d dare say I’d give your knowledge gathering skills a run for its money,” she whispered, tone half teasing half serious. This coaxed a faint smile onto his face - a faint but real one. She then felt her head spin and she swayed on the spot. Her balance became shot and she tumbled into his arms. He caught her with a grunt of effort, voice a garble of words to her ears. Her eyes rolled back, showing the whites, and she fainted.

* * *

Y/N gently sat up, a content smile stuck on her face. A great sense of calm and soft happiness warmed her, the image of Petyr smiling at her - _at_ ** _her_** _,_ _not Sansa_ \- was burned into her mind. She stayed seated, replaying their witty exchange over and over in her head. She felt a little star struck and her cheeks heated up as she recalled his playfulness. Embarrassment then clouded her. She fainted in his arms. While Y/N was glad she hadn’t hit the ground and hurt herself, she wondered how Petyr had reacted? How bystanders had reacted? It was an interesting thought - a question to ask him if she reveals who she really is. 

She then yawned and crawled into bed. Tomorrow was Friday; she only had to face school once more before the weekend came. Could she return to Westeros for a longer time if she napped during the day? Yawning even more, she turned on her side and closed her eyes to rest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Y/N returns to Westeros, Petyr pulls her aside to have a private discussion. They have much to talk about...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparantly Westeros is spelt with two 'e's...I'll need to go back and change the spelling. Damn dyslexia!
> 
> Anyway, chapter 5 is here! So enjoy ^_^

Y/N left the classroom as soon as the bell rang, signalling the end of school. She was the first one out the door and fished out her ear buds from her pocket as she walked. She pulled up Spotify and listened to her favourite songs as she made her way home. Grey clouds began to roll in, bringing drizzles of rain with them.

_I hope the weather’s nicer in Westeros_ , she thought. Soon, she reached her house and stepped in. Bag gets dropped to the floor, boots are taken off and put away, coat is hung up. As she heads upstairs, her mum grabs a hold of her arm. Her grip was gentle but it caught Y/N’s attention.

“Are you okay?” Her mum asked.

“Yes, why?” She replied, turning to look down at her mum (she was a few steps up and her mother wasn’t particularly tall).

“You’ve been a bit of a shut-in lately.”

“Is that any different to usual?” She joked but her mum’s worried expression didn’t shift. “I’ve got to study,” she lied.

“Why don’t you take a break? Dad will be home soon.”

“I’ll be down later,” she promised. Her mother brought her down to embrace in a hug which Y/N returned. When she stepped back, the worried expression had faded slightly on her mum’s face.

“Love you mum.”

“Love you too, Y/N.”

And with that, Y/N made her way upstairs. She scoured her DVD box-set for the next likely scene she’d arrive in. Season 1 and season 2 were done. The first episode of season 3 looked promising, however. A quick trip to YouTube confirmed this. She watched the scene, debating if she should plan what she would say. Well, what he would say has already changed because she went off script in their last interaction.

_And I fainted in his arms_ , she recalled.

She would just have to see what he said and go from there. Shutting down her laptop, she changed out of her school clothes and into comfier things. Jogging bottoms and a baggy tee ought to do it. It’s not like Petyr will see her like this anyway. She sat down at her desk and opened the textbook. A thought crossed her mind then - what if she went to a different page? Taking note of the page number that seemed to make her sleepy, she flipped to a different one. She began to scan the page, not paying attention to the words. After about a minute, she didn’t feel any different to normal.

“How strange,” she muttered aloud and returned to the original page. Her eyes darted around the page, mock reading, and before long she felt the effects. _That’s better_ , she thought and fell asleep. 

* * *

“Lovely day for it,” a cheery Petyr called. Y/N was in the scene she predicted, sitting on the end of a short dock next to Shae. Sansa and Shae turned their heads to watch Petyr stroll over to them, his accompanying whore hanging back some distance. “Watching the ships,” he commented idly as he walked behind them.

“Lord Baelish,” Sansa said neutrally.

“Might I speak with Lady Sansa alone for a moment?” He addressed Shae, subtly telling her to piss off. Without a word, Shae stood up and walked away to wait with his whore. Sansa stood up and Petyr led her further down the dock. “I saw your mother not long ago,” he continued. “She’s very eager to see you. And your sister.”

Y/N knew this was meant to be a shock but she simply nodded. “I know.”

“You do?” He asked, one eyebrow raised slightly.

“Like I said when we last spoke, I have my own intelligence gathering skills.”

“I seem to remember you fainting.”

“And thank you for catching me, Lord Baelish,” she teased with a smile.

He looked at her, amused. “Why did you faint?”

She looked out into the water. “The shock of getting one’s heart broken can do strange things to a fragile girl,” she said, showing off her sarcastic humour.

He chuckled but pressed on. “We both know you were overjoyed at not marrying him. Why did you really faint?”

She took a moment to think, weighing up her choices. “I...I’m not sure if you’d believe me if I told you the truth.”

“I know when someone is lying, Lady Sansa.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and yet still hesitated. This could backfire very badly, or she could show her hand too early and be left powerless. She raised her gaze to catch his eye. He held her gaze, waiting patiently.

“The truth, Lord Baelish, is that I...I’m not…” She couldn’t force the words from her mouth, her mind panicking and trying to cover all the angles.

"You’re not?” He prompted in such a soft voice that the crashing sea almost stole his words away before she heard it.

“I’m not technically Sansa,” she blurted. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not in anger, just confusion. “Explain.”

“Well, I’m not really sure what’s going on myself. I was just sitting at my desk, when all of a sudden I fell asleep, and then I woke up in Sansa’s body, and I’m a fan of this show and all but that doesn’t make sense and-” She said in a wave of words, starting to run out of breath when Petyr cut her off.

“Whoa whoa,” he shushed, waving a hand to stop the stream of words. “Let’s start from the beginning - who are you really?”

“Y/N. Y/N L/N,” she replied.

“No titles?” He asked and she shook her head.

“Where I come from, not many people have titles. And those that do aren’t really that special,” she explained.

This revelation seemed to boggle him. “Where do you come from then?”

“That’s tricky to explain. But basically, _this_ is all a show. It’s not real and many people watch it for entertainment.” 

“And are you one of those people?” 

Y/N lowered her head and a spot of colour entered her pale cheeks. “Yes…”

“And have you watched all of the show?”

“Yes, although I don’t like how it ends.”

“How does it end?”

“Well, that would be telling,” she smirked at him. “But I do know how certain things pan out and could perhaps divulge that information.”

“And what’s your asking price, _Y/N?”_ Petyr asked. He added a silkiness to his voice as he tried out her name for the first time. She felt a strange fluttering/tingling sensation spread throughout her body and her cheeks reddened a little more. He noticed this and gave her a sly smirk. 

“Well, _Petyr_ , why don’t you answer a few questions for me first and then I’ll answer some of your questions?” 

“Ask away.”

“What happens when Sansa takes back over?”

“To my knowledge, not much. She doesn’t seem to recall what happens when you take over, nor does she recall the fainting.”

“I see.”

“Why do you faint?” Petyr asked one final time, bringing a giggle from Y/N.

“That’s how I leave Sansa’s body and return to my own world.”

“Very strange,” he commented.

“Sansa is the Key to the North which is why you want her. Now, Sansa isn’t particularly trusting of you but I could be of more use.”

“Oh?”

“Oh indeed. I have knowledge of the future and can help you achieve your goal. In the meantime, you need to keep Sansa safe - she is my vessel after all. Marrying her off to Ramsey Bolton is a bad move as not only does she get raped - something I do **not** want to experience - but that sets in motion her betrayal of you and your master plan starts to unravel.”

His gorgeous eyes widened in concealed surprise. “What should I do instead?”

“Keep Sansa close and safe. Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be smuggling me out of King’s Landing?”

“When I get called away on other business, that was the plan yes.”

“Stick to it - it works out well. As far as I can recall, we meet again after Sansa is attempted to be wed to Loras. In reality, she is to wed Tyrion Lannister.”

“That _is_ an interesting turn of events,” Petyr remarked. He looked thoughtful for a moment, staring out into the dark waves. He spoke again after a little while. “I think our alliance could work.”

“Indeed, provided you don’t betray me or let Sansa slip from your grasp in my absence,” Y/N agreed.

“You don’t trust me? Oh, how you wound me,” he dramatically delivered. 

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “To trust you would be naive - you said so to Ned Stark and I’d rather keep my neck attached to my body.”

“You’re wise for an outsider.”

“An outsider who knows the future,” she corrected.

“Yes, well, let’s come up with a proper plan - I speak to Sansa again some time later and you take her place during that conversation, and then what?”

“We plan the actual details of my escape.”

“You don’t think the Lannisters will come after Sansa?” 

“So long as you and I keep a low profile, things should be okay. Besides, I’m sure Tyrion will be thrilled.”

“That will certainly cause quite a bit of -”  
“ _Chaos_ ,” they said in unison. She smirked at him and he returned it. 

“So, it’s a deal then?” Y/N ventured.

“It is a deal indeed,” Petyr agreed. He leaned in close to her in order to whisper; “Until next time, _Y/N.”_

“Until next time, _Petyr,”_ she echoed and he turned to walk away. Dizziness overcame her and she stumbled forward. Lord Baelish heard the commotion as she clattered to the stone. He rushed over to her, Shae and his whore in tow. He knelt down next to her, peering down with genuine worry that was quickly concealed as the others drew closer. A dull ache took residence in her head and back but her mind remained calm even as blackness dominated her vision. She clung to the image of Petyr as she slipped back to her reality.

* * *

A pounding headache was the first thing Y/N noticed as she came to in her own reality. She hissed with pain, moving making the headache worse. The second thing she noticed was the pain shooting from her back. She wasn’t sure if it was just bruising or if she had fucked up back worse. She slowly sat up, grabbing a nearby pillow to put prop her up and hopefully alleviate some of the back pain. It had little to help and Y/N cursed the stupid stone dock. Of course that’s where they had to have their conversation! A room full of lovely soft and fully fluffed pillows is clearly too much to ask. Grumbling, she made a mental note to tell Petyr about the pain of fainting onto stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the formatting is weird...again. I swear AO3 has it in for me or something. Aw well, I hope you enjoyed anyway


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Y/N plan the smuggling of Sansa. All the while, guilt begins to linger in the back of Y/N's mind but she's able to ignore it...for now

That weekend, Y/N was dragged from her room. Her parents, worried but trying to hide it, were making her partake in activities with them. From simple things like eating at the dinner table together, to talking about various things (school had come up but Y/N had shut that topic down), to playing a nice game of Boggle (Y/N wasn’t the greatest player but she made up words - some of which turned out to be real ones). But, at last, she was able to convince her parents that she needed to ‘study’. They agreed and she was quick to shut herself up in her room. It was around mid afternoon and she didn’t have to get changed out of her school clothes. No scene preparation was needed - between the two of them, Petyr and Y/N had ventured very far from canon. All she had to do was sit at her desk and be transported away to Westeros.

...And yet she hesitated.

She glanced over her shoulder at her closed bedroom door. A twinge of guilt went through her but the thought of Petyr made her bury that guilt. She sat at her desk heavily and flicked to the usual page. It took a little longer to feel the effects but soon enough her head was being brought down to rest on the textbook and she let sleep take her.

* * *

“She may not be the grandest ship in the world,” Petyr said from behind her. A disorientated Y/N turned away from the view - a lone ship sailing slowly away on the beautifully blue water - and looked at him. “Or the fastest,” he continued, making his way over to stand beside her. “But she’s mine.” He indicated for her to sit and she did.

“In a way, it’s a wonderful metaphor for you,” she commented as he settled down next to her. “A little ship, overlooked by everyone else, making its way into some very grand ports.”

He smiled slightly. “I’ve always wanted a ship. Now I want a dozen.”

“That’s because you’re a man of great ambition - and so are many of the people you deal with. Whole houses brimming with ambition and they have the brutality to achieve their goals.”

“Indeed,” he agreed before changing the topic. “In any case, I have good news; I’ll be leaving this city soon.”

“And our plan is still on?”

“I can tell you’re not Sansa, she has a way of speaking that doesn’t entail flattery for me.” He tilted his head ever so slightly to one side and she copied, bringing a smile to both of their faces as he chuckled and she giggled. 

“But, are you sure now is the best time?” She asked.

“Do you not think so?” He inquired.

“Sansa is a tricky girl and the Lannisters won’t let her go just yet. Still, it is best to cart her off now than wait.”

“Then it is settled,” he simply said.

“And how shall you care for my vessel? She won’t be too happy to find herself on a strange ship, nor does she trust you enough to go along with your plans.”

He hummed, thinking over the possibilities. “We could lock her up,” he suggested. “Keep her safe and out the way, none the wiser.”

“A good plan until I take her place. We would need some sort of signal.”

“We already have one,” he replied, tilting his head a little. 

“And you’d be willing spend all your time tilting your head at a confused and angry Sansa?” She joked, laughing at the mental image. 

“Y/N, I believe you underestimate your own value,” he replied sincerely. A blush rose in her cheeks and she struggled to think of something to say, so he continued. “We shall be at sea for quite a while and being stuck on a ship gets boring fast.”

“You don’t have things to do, Lord Baelish?” She teased, regaining her ability to talk.

“Petyr,” he corrected. “Call me Petyr.”

_“Petyr,”_ she purred, accompanying it with a sultry look.

“That’s better,” he smirked, voice gaining a somewhat gruff quality. 

Y/N leaned in close, lowering her voice so that he had to strain to hear. “I bet you’re a **_rough_ ** lover,” she wickedly whispered, locking eyes with him. His beautiful eyes widened slightly, a gleam of arousal unmistakable. She pulled back, leaning her left arm on the stone ledge as she looked out to sea. From the corner of her eye, she watched him regain his composure in a smooth and practised fashion. “I’ll have you know, Petyr, that fainting onto stone is very painful,” she teased.

“If I had known you would faint at that particular moment, I would not have walked away,” he told her, a serious note entering his voice.

She was touched by this. “Well, I’m okay at any rate. Bit concerned about yourself and all this trouble you’re going through.”

He scooted closer, their faces much nearer. “I’m touched by your concern. But do not worry; the trouble is worth it, _Y/N_ .” Behind the seduction laid the calculating cunning which was softened by real...affection. It felt surreal to have those emotions directed at her, as a big fan of the man in front of her. Her gaze dropped down to his lips - _oh, how she wanted to kiss them_ \- but she averted her gaze. Not quick enough, apparently. “I saw that,” Petyr smirked.

Y/N went to reply but the dizziness began. Sitting down helped her stay upright but she swayed forward nonetheless. They nearly cracked heads but Petyr managed to dodge in time. She grabbed onto the stone ledge, face going paler as her breathing became laboured. He moved swiftly into action, gently coaxing her to lie down. Her head was resting in his lap, his hands propping her up slightly. He cradled her close and she winced as the movement made her head hurt.

“Keep me safe,” she croaked out. She meant to say ‘keep the _vessel_ safe’ but her muddled and scared mind needed reassurance.

“I will,” Petyr promised. A warm hand cupped her cheek gently and she left Westeros, taking a fading mental image of Petyr with her.

* * *

A warm, coziness blanketed Y/N as she woke up. It was the similar warm a hot, relaxing shower achieves. Or the same warmth as cocooning in the duvet on a cold winter’s night. She basked in this warmth, at ease with everything. She stayed curled up at her desk, allowing her mind to go blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo fan service! Who am I kidding - this whole fic is fan service! :p
> 
> The next chapter is currently being written, so it should be up soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan has begun without issue - if you don't count Y/N's seasickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a longer chapter, so strap in folks! I've also head cannoned Petyr to suffer from seasickness, so make of that what you will.
> 
> Enjoy!

A lazy Sunday was spent reflecting on the strange situation Y/N found herself in. She was in a situation that allowed her to interact with her favourite characters - something all fans dream of - and yet she’s had to sacrifice time with her parents, her grades, possibly even her future to risk her and Petyr’s neck in Westeros.

Right now, she was cooped up in her room, brushing up on the events of the show. This was the only advantage she had and she couldn’t afford to enter Westeros with limited knowledge. Her taking control of Sansa was useful too but it had a time limit. Whatever Sansa did when Y/N wasn’t there was Petyr’s responsibility to deal with. Her future sight, a bastard child of Bran’s power, was her only tool.

It was an hour or so later when she felt comfortable enough to sit down at her desk. She fell asleep, willing her mind to bury the guilt that had crept in.

* * *

Sansa fell over onto the strangely padded floor. Y/N looked down and saw dry straw carpeting the room. Nausea hit her suddenly, making her stomach flip with unease.

_ I can’t be going already, _ she thought, gaze scanning the room. Plain wooden panels and a solid looking door made up the room. Small droplets of water fell from the gaps in the panelling. She concentrated and could make out the rocking the room was experiencing. _ A ship, _ she realised. She was at sea, hopefully on Petyr’s personal ship or else she was in big trouble. Y/N didn’t do well on ships or boats, she got horribly seasick. 

“Petyr?” She called out weakly, almost certain no one was around to hear her or the sound of the waves had stolen her voice. Floorboards creaked from outside of her room and footsteps headed away from the door. Someone had been stationed outside the door at any rate. With a low groan, she laid down in the straw and tried to focus on anything but being sea sick.

Some time had passed, Y/N had no idea how much but it was at least a few minutes. The door opened with a loud creak and someone stepped inside.

“Y/N?” Came the voice of Petyr. She used her arms to lift her head up. Her skin was pale, her eyes glazed over, and her mouth pressed down hard into a thin line. He made his way through the straw and sat down in front of her. 

“I’m seasick,” she told him, clearly miserable about it.

“That’s why I spend most of my time above deck,” he said, gently picking the straw out of her hair.

“You too, eh?” She asked, resting her chin on his knee. How the man was able to sit cross-legged she’ll never know. Considering the size of his proverbial bollocks, he must be uncomfortable.

“I find having some ginger root before boarding and then getting plenty of fresh air when sailing helps tremendously,” he gently suggested, still plucking straw from her hair. He seemed...incredibly soft in this moment. She left compelled to leave as this seemed too private and intimate for another soul’s eyes. She didn’t notice she was staring until he locked eyes with hers.

“You shouldn’t be in that position, you’ll cause a crick in your neck,” he lectured.

“And you’re alright sitting like that, are you?” She returned cheekily, glancing down at his crotch. 

“While uncomfortable, it’s only for a moment,” he explained before standing up. He helped her to her feet and allowed her to lean on him for support as he guided her out of the room. They half walked, half staggered up the ladder-like steps and reached the deck. He took her over to the bow of the ship and they stood by the taffrail. She was quick to gulp down the sea air, face going flush as the cool breeze hit her. Petyr stepped away to instruct a crew member to go to his quarters and bring back some ginger. 

“You keep ginger in a desk draw?” Y/N joked, voice a little shaky. 

“Never you mind where I keep it,” he scolded with a playful smile. “Just breathe and look at the horizon.”

She did as she was told and was relieved that it helped. Petyr was getting a bit agitated, muttering under his breath about incompetency. The crew member hurried back a few moments later and Petyr snatched the piece of ginger from him. Y/N didn’t see the icy glare Petyr gave the man but she did hear the threatening growls before the man ran to escape Petyr’s ire. He returned to Y/N’s side and handed her the ginger.

“Thanks,” she said before looking at it, puzzled. She knew she had to eat it but she wasn’t sure how to go about it.

He chuckled from beside her. “Just take a bite out of it and see how you do,” he suggested. Thinking  _ what the hell _ , Y/N shrugged and took a decent size bite out of it. The taste, while not too bad, was a bit sheer on its own. Still, she got it down and continued to keep her breathing steady.

“We sailing to Vale?” She asked, correct grammar being forgotten for a moment.

“Correct,” he nodded.

“When you give Robin his present, he’ll chuck it out the moondoor,” she informed him, gaze remaining on the horizon. She did, however, watch his reaction out the corner of her eye, and saw his right eye twitch slightly as his grip tightened on the taffrail. For all the deception he was able to pull off, he seemed to let his guard down around her. His aura of anger effectively kept the crew members away from them, and Y/N considered the possibility that Petyr was playing her. He was well known to play both sides. “Other things may have to be chucked out the moondoor too,” she cryptically continued.

“Meaning?” He asked through slightly gritted teeth. 

“Well, if I tell you, certain events might not happen,” she returned with a smirk, thoughts lingering on the kiss Petyr and Sansa share in the snow. 

“And you want those  _ certain events _ to happen?” He questioned with a purring undertone and a quirked eyebrow. His ability to switch from anger to seduction was yet more proof of what a great deceiver he was - it also gave more weight to the _ “he’s playing you” _ theory. She resolved to keep an eye on him but allow her mind to stay open to all possibilities. 

For now, she’d go along with it and hope for her desired outcome.

“Only if you do,” she purred back, her seasickness subsiding enough to be seductive. Arousal sparked in his eyes and her cheeks flushed a little. She decided to finish off the ginger and popped the rest of it in her mouth, ignoring the sheer taste as best she could. They each turned to stare out into the water, the breeze playing with their hair and clothes. Warm rays of sunlight reflected off his silver sigil in a pretty manner that caught her eye. The mockingbird was a fitting animal to represent the only member of house Baelish. “I wonder what my sigil would be,” she wondered aloud.

Petyr glanced around to make sure no one else was listening before speaking. “Well, you’re pretending to be a Stark, so a wolf is your sigil.”

“Yes, but, what about my own house?”

“Given there are so many houses, a lot of animals and colours have been already claimed.”

Y/N thought for a moment. “Have horses been taken?” Her gaze drifted to the waters that rocked the ship gently. “Or whales?”

“Sigils have rich symbolism attached to them,” he explained, annoyance clipping his words. “You can’t just pick an animal at random.”

“Alright fine,” she conceded. “How about house sayings?”

"Yours is ‘winter is coming’. Limited but true.”

“Lannisters have one, Baratheons have one, Tullys too. And the Greyjoys. Martells as well. Plus the Tyrell lot but Lady Olenna isn’t fond of her motto,” she recounted. “What’s your motto?”

“I didn’t see a need to have one,” he shrugged.

She leaned in a little. “I bet it would be ‘Chaos is a ladder’.”

Surprise found its way onto his face -  _ his handsome face _ \- and he gave her a look that said ‘okay, that’s a bit freaky’. Similar to the one he gave Bran the Broken when Bran said the same thing.  _ Perhaps I have more in common with Sansa’s siblings than I thought, _ she wondered. She was broken out of her thoughts by Petyr’s question.

“Are you feeling faint?” He inquired, gaze upon her face. It was a simple question and yet she felt as though it carried a lot more weight. Perhaps it was the sweet sincerity, or the fact it was  _ him  _ asking the question, but whatever the reason Y/N’s heart melted.

“No, no, I feel fine,” she replied with a subtle smile. “Now that we’re in uncharted waters - narratively speaking - I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. Before, once the scene concluded, I’d faint and be back in my reality. Since none of this is canon, I could be here for a while.” No sooner had those words left her mouth, did the dizzy spell start up. Petyr was quick to catch her and keep her steady. “Or I could jinx myself,” she laughed.

“Keep it down,” he hushed, glancing around at the crew members.

She stared up at him, gaze unfocused. “Hey, if I cross my eyes, there’s two of you. Wouldn’t that be an interesting threesome~” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him.

Her musings, while not consciously done, signaled for him to whisk her away back into the straw room. And he was quick to do so, even as she complained of her seasickness returning. She was laying on her back in the straw before her brain could fully register what was happening. “Feeling better?” He asked, staring down at her. 

“You’re upside down,” she pointed out, and from point of view he was.

“Your brain seems to have dribbled out your ears,” he wittily said.

“Well, don’t slip on it when you walk about the deck.”

He let out a short sigh that could be misconstrued for a laugh. Even her muddled brain could see the annoyance slip into something more  _ deadly  _ and so she pulled herself together.

“Ros, your main whore?”

“What about her?”

“Well, she, like everyone else, is a tricksie bastard. But she’s working to undermine you.”

His handsome features hardened, a darkness consuming him. Several jokes sprang to mind but she had the control to hold her tongue. “Then I shall see to my shadow,” Littlefinger says, voice as smooth and cold as steel. He then turned and left the room. An arm was flung outstretched as she reached for him, his name on her lips just as she lost consciousness.

* * *

A shuddering in take of breath made Y/N bolt awake. She coughed a little and stretched to soothe her aching body. Her limbs were sore from being in one position for so long. She stood up and took to pacing around her room, brain awhirl with a flurry of thoughts. That experience had taught her a valuable lesson - she could joke with him, she could flirt with him, but she had to take into account his hidden brutality. Every player in that game had brutality of some sort - some much more obvious about it than others - and she couldn’t allow her fangirling to blind her.

This realisation, that should have been more obvious, was mixed in with growing feelings of guilt. Even if she were to disregard her poor school performance, the brushing off of her parents was…

She sighed, not wanting to legitimise that sad reality. She crawled into bed, feeling worse after her Westreos adventure for once. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N is back aboard the ship. The nasty weather has made for less than plain sailing and so she must stay below deck. Her time is spent in Petyr's quarters annoying him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immersion suggestion: There's a site called "A Soft Murmur" which you can use to create weather/atmosphere sounds. I used it while writing this chapter (a small bit of rain and wave and about half for the fire). Just a little tip if you wanted to listen to something while reading.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

_ Tears had been shed that Sunday evening but Y/N would not wallow in self-pity for long. A solution must be reached. But first, she had school to attend. _

Monday dragged by and Y/N was barely chugging along. She wished the Westeros stuff had happened after she was finished with school, that way she wouldn’t have to deal with teachers chewing her out for not doing homework or being distracted in class. She just sighed and got on with the work halfheartedly. 

Freedom came when school was over, and she raced back home. The usual was done when she got in the house; bag, shoes, and coat put away, a quick “hi” to her mum, rushing up to her bedroom to change and brush up on some Game of Thrones knowledge before she was to dive back into the world. 

It was a simple yet effective system. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. She couldn’t afford to let her fangirl side wreck everything - she needed to stay level headed. Although she could turn up the confidence. With a smirk, she sashayed over to the desk, plonking herself down in the chair. The textbook was opened to the usual page and the sleepiness overcame her instantly. Mild surprise ran through her mind but she rolled with it.

* * *

The prickling of mass amounts of dry straw clued her in as to where she was. The rocking of the ship was much more noticeable this time, worsening her seasickness. She screwed her eyes up tight and flopped down on to the straw, trying to keep her composure. 

“Lord Baelish?” She called out, a groan of illness present in her voice. The door was unlocked after a moment and footsteps shuffled in.

“M’lord has ordered for you to be brought to his quarters,” the crew member informed her, no doubt pointing some sort of weapon in her direction in case this turned out to be a trick. Doing her best to deal with the nausea, Y/N hauled herself to her feet. She cracked her eyes open a tiny bit and staggered across the room. Sure enough, she saw the crew member was holding a crossbow. It was loaded and ready to fire should she be foolish. 

“And his quarters are?” She prompted the guard, biting back the urge to be sarcastic - she didn’t think a crossbow bolt sticking out her torso would be a great fashion accessory.

“This way,” he grunted before turning to lead the way. She followed after him as fast as her dress and seasickness would allow. After some twists and turns that made her dizzier than before, they arrived at Petyr’s quarters. The door was opened by the guard and she stepped inside. Here, the rocking seemed quite minor - a pleasant change of pace from the rest of the ship. She was able to open her eyes and look around. A desk sat in the middle of the room, chairs on either side of it. Sitting behind the desk and basked in moody candle light was Petyr. His attention was on the roll of parchment he was writing on and he hadn’t seemed to notice her arrival. She rolled her eyes but this is what she expected from the man - endless mind games. 

“You wanted me brought here?” She was aware of the guard lingering in the open doorway behind her and so couldn’t reveal her identity in an obvious way. Still, she left out some formalities just to annoy him.

And annoy him it did. The grip on the quill tightened and his posture stiffened. Yet, he still pretended to be mildly surprised to see her when he looked up. 

“Having a nice trip?” He asked, a polite smile on his face. She shot back a _ ‘cut the bullshit’  _ look but he was enjoying things too much. “Awful weather at the moment, I’m afraid. Heavy rain and frequent storms have turned the waves nasty.”

“A shame, really,” she said, reluctantly playing along. “I was hoping to go above deck.”

“I would steer clear of that course of action,” he advised. The two of them stared at each other for a moment. A snap of his fingers sent the guard back to his post, plunging the room in all round moody lighting as the door was closed. He put his quill down and stood up. 

“Can’t afford more candles?” She questioned.

“Do you disapprove of my lighting preference?”

“It’s gloomy and immature. Sums you up perfectly.”

Petyr walked around the side of the desk to stand in front of it, observing her. “Sansa has no backbone in which to talk to me in such a manner. Welcome back, Y/N.”

“Indeed,” she said, tilting her head ever so slightly to one side. A moment passed with no movement from him. Her heart rate spiked. Possibilities as to what this meant raced through her mind but before she could pinpoint a theory, he tilted his head back in acknowledgement. Relief washed over her but she tried not to show it. They both sat on the decently comfy chairs, Petyr returning behind the desk while she sat in the guest chair. His attention turned back to the parchment, and her gaze began to wander. The gloomy candles cast thick swaths of shadow, leaving only things very close to the source illuminated. Her eyes were drawn to Petyr’s face. A shade of flickering yellow light tinted his face, and no doubt Sansa’s too. Her eyes flicked down to whatever he was writing. The angle made the writing doubly difficult to decipher; the sloped cursive scrawl was upside down from her point of view. 

“Has anyone ever told you to keep your nose out of other’s business?” Came Petyr’s voice in a dry manner.

“Being nosey is a good thing - you don’t learn stuff otherwise,” she cheekily returned.

“There’s an element of subtly to it that you’re missing.”

“Perhaps. But, as your personal adviser, I should be kept in the loop.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Personal adviser?” 

“Self-appointed,” she admitted. “But, I _ am _ the one with the future sight.”

He paused his writing and put down the quill. He steepled his fingers and looked at her. “Advise me.”

“Your wife-” She began but he interrupted. 

“We’re not married,” he corrected.

And this is where she broke out into a big  _ ‘gotcha’ _ smile. “She has arranged to marry you the moment you land in the Vale.” Y/N sat forward in her chair. “She describes herself as a  _ screamer _ and she’s  _ very eager _ to prove that to her new husband.”

His jaw clenched, body locking up as annoyance was painted on his face. He sat back in his chair. She could almost hear the cogs whirring as his scheming began. “And how do I avoid this?” He abruptly asked.

“You know as well as I do that Lysa  _ yearns  _ for you,” she teased. His eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth turned downward. “Your marriage will be quite short, thankfully. Though you’ll still consummate it.” She hadn’t the inclination to pull her punches. Confusion dashed across his face and decided to clarify. “Till death do you part,” she smirked.

He seemed to have cottoned on but then lost interest and went back to writing. No sooner had he picked up the quill and dipped it in the inkwell, did she speak up again.

“Do you have any more ginger?” She asked. He glanced at her before opening up a desk draw. He took out a small piece of ginger and handed it to her. “So you do keep it in a desk draw,” she laughed. A sharp look from him convinced her to shut up and eat the ginger. He got back to writing and silence lapsed between them. Waves rocked the boat, the muffled sound of it made its way to their ears. Light scratches of the quill and the soft crackling from the lit candles company the muffled crashing. After twisting in her seat in an attempt to pierce the gloom and look around some more, Y/N gave up on that and settled back in her chair. She continued to chew the ginger, thinking of what to do or say. 

She turned her head to the side trying to read the letter Petyr was writing. She still couldn’t make out what it said and soon gave up. Instead, she shuffled forward in her seat and rested her chin on the edge of the desk (by this time, she had eaten the ginger and was thankful she didn’t have to deal with the nausea). Her eyes tried to catch his gaze. He continued to ignore her. She then began to roll her head back and forth across the desk edge. Still no response from him. She hummed and her eyebrows knitted together in thought. Slowly and stealthily, she brought her right hand up so that it was raised just above the desk. When she located the inkwell’s position, she extended her hand and used her index finger to nudge it.

His hand suddenly pinned hers to the desk, the rings he wore glinting in the candle light. And then their silent conversation began;

His eyebrows furrowed, causing a slight crease in his forehead. _ What are you doing? _

She shrugged a shoulder, half lidding her eyes.  _ Dunno, just bored.  _

He let go of her hand, lightly swatting it away.  _ Don’t knock over my things. _

She sat up and stuck her tongue out at him. _ Or what? _

  
  


He turned back to the letter, an unamused expression on his face. 

A small sigh escaped her and she ducked her head down to catch his attention. 

He looked at her, almost glaring.

She gazed up at him, eyebrows going up slightly. 

It took a moment but his own gaze softened too.

She sat back up and pulled her chair in.

The quill was put down again but their attention remained solely on each other. 

They leaned in at the same time, their faces so much closer.

Lips almost brushed but it was their noses instead that touched.

Y/N was able to hold her nerve even as her heart began to beat so hard she was sure Petyr could hear it. 

He gave her a wicked look -  _ the confident smirk of a man who has bedded hundreds of whores _ \- but she knew that wasn’t quite his style. 

And still they got closer, lips making light contact before she pulled back in a teasing manner.

It was agony on both their parts but seeing him struggle to remain composed was worth it.

They leaned back in, both wanting to make contact, and as they were about to do so-

  
  


Thunder cracked loudly, causing them both to jump. 

Y/N suppressed a scream, a previously flushed face now ghostly white. Petyr shot her an “are you okay?” look and she nodded. He called for a guard, knowing there wouldn’t be one far away. The floorboard creaked as the crew member hurried to the room and pushed the door open. 

“Take Sansa back to her room,” he ordered. The guard roughly pulled her up from the chair and gripped her tightly by the arm. Y/N fought the urge to deck the man for the rough treatment. She looked back over her shoulder to where Petyr was. He was up and fixing his clothes before exiting the room alongside them. He gave her a subtly apologetic look before rushing off in the other direction to bark more orders. The guard dragged her along. The damn dress caught under her feet, nearly toppling her over. She managed to stumble to regain balance and before long they reached her room. She was shoved inside, the door slammed and locked behind her. 

Dizziness started up again, although she couldn’t tell if it was from the storm crashing into the ship or if she was getting ready to depart Westeros.  _ Perhaps both,  _ she bitterly thought, doing her best to not throw up. A particularly nasty wave stuck the ship violently, sending her careening into the wooden panels. The back of her head struck the wood, lights exploding behind her eyelids. The room span and span and  _ span. _ She couldn’t catch her breath as her chest constricted, her lungs on the verge of bursting. A scream was strangled in her throat and she fell heavily onto the straw.

* * *

Y/N was groggy when she came to. Vision blurry, arms heavy…

Mum’s spaghetti?

She groaned. That was bad, even by her standards. Her mind was unable to do much in its current state, it seemed. _ Perhaps a quick nap will reset it, _ she wondered with a yawn, looking at her bed with longing. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have arrived at the Vale and meet Lysa and Robin. Petyr weds Lysa that day and they consummate the marriage is the loudest way possible...making Y/N piss herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Vomit warning! 
> 
> Oh, and soft feels between Y/N and Petyr. So enjoy ^_^

Y/N was given an ultimatum at school - she either knuckles down and does the work or her parents will become involved in disciplinary action. She shuddered at the thought and so had to set aside Westeros adventures to deal with real world responsibilities. 

Two days. That was the longest she’d been without returning to Petyr’s side. Anxiety flared in her chest when she thought about it. Who even knows how long that is on his end? It could be a matter of weeks, months, _years!_ Taking in a shuddering breath, she forced herself to remain calm. The plan was simple; she would return to Westeros tonight and nothing would stop her from doing so.

The twinge of guilt that passed through her as she stepped into her bedroom was pushed out of her mind by the worry she felt for Petyr. She was quick to get things set up and re-enter Westeros.

* * *

A tight grip on her left arm - one sure to leave a bruise - was the first sensation she felt. Seconds after the loud chaotic sounds associated with unloading a ship filled her ears. She was being dragged along, her long dress getting under her feet and tripping her up. 

“Lord Baelish!” She cried out instinctively. Through the energetic chaos, Petyr appeared beside her in a flash.

“Unload the ship,” he barked at the guard, who was quick to scurry off and do. He then peered at her, seemingly satisfied after a moment’s inspection before grabbing her hand and leading her away to a more secluded spot. He stopped suddenly when they were far enough away and rounded on her. “Where in Westeros have you been?” He demanded in a hiss.

“Busy in my own reality. Was I gone long?” She replied, still a bit dazed.

“Long enough,” came his simple answer before he switched topics. “Now, we’ve just landed at our destination. We’re pretending that you - or Sansa actually - are my niece Alayne. Just keep your head down and your hood up, things will be fine.”

She nodded before looking around at the grassy land. “Are there any rocks around here?”

“Rocks? Why do you need rocks?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“So, instead of smashing your gift, Robin can throw a rock through the moondoor,” she explained as though it were obvious.

A smile flickered on his face but quickly vanished. “Don’t worry about it. Let the brat smash it if he really wants.”

“I’m still looking for one,” Y/N stubbornly said.

Petyr rolled his eyes but was somewhat amused. “Fine, but don’t go wandering off,” he instructed.

“I won’t,” she promised. He then turned back to continue giving orders to the crew. 

Y/N became absorbed in her rock hunt. She found lots of pebbles and small, worthless rocks. She wanted something that was weighty but something she could conceal on her way to the Eyrie. Finally, she found a worthy rock. It was chunky, pleasantly polished, and had square but blunt edges. She could fit it in the palm of her hand, however she wasn’t able to make a fist. _A victory is a victory,_ she concluded before turning her right hand to hide it. 

  
  
  


Petyr and Y/N lead the way to the Bloody Gate. They were walking at a snail’s pace over rocky terrain that was difficult to traverse. She had to yank the bottom of her dress up in order to walk, the slow pace making the whole thing a lot more drawn out. 

“Hurry up,” Petyr teased in a whisper, a few steps in front of her.

“Your clothes aren’t trying to trip you up,” she hissed back, speeding up to catch up with him. He smirked at her as her foot caught on something sticking out of the ground and she stumbled forward. _Smug bastard,_ she silently spat before continuing onward. 

They kept walking across the dull, tricky landscape for some time before they encountered a steep passage. Soldiers dressed in metal plate armor and carrying various weapons lined the sheer sides of the passage. Archers pointed drawn bows at them, ready to fire any second. Under their watchful eyes, Petyr led her and the crew through the passage. Their crunching footsteps the only sound present.

“Pull up your hood,” Petyr instructed suddenly. He seemed so loud in the deafening silence that it made her jump ever so slightly. Having forgotten about Sansa’s decisive red hair, it didn’t occur to Y/N to do this earlier. She was quick to rectify this oversight. They trudged on, neither of them talking. In canon, if Y/N recalled correctly, Petyr was telling Sansa about how the pass is a great strength and such. Since she didn’t ask and Petyr presumed she already knew, this history lesson was left unspoken. They approached the Blood Gate, which she had to crick her neck to see the full height of, and came to a stop a few feet away from it. Men stood between them.

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” One of them asked. She couldn’t recall names or ranks but she presumed he was in charge or at least of a higher authority.

“Lord Petyr Baelish and his niece Alyane.”

The man looked at Sansa. Y/N did her best to give the Stark girl’s face a space out look. The man seemed convinced as he called to the soldiers to “stand to”, which made their weapons drop to a more relaxed position. 

“Welcome back, Lord Baelish,” the man continued. Petyr gave a small nod and he didn’t put much effort into being convincing. She resisted the urge to smirk at him for they both knew what Lysa had in store for that evening. Heavy metal clunks were heard as the large gate was drawn up. Petyr turned to her, extending a hand outwards as if to say “ladies first”. She gathered up the bottom of her dress and continued on, Petyr just behind her. 

  
  


They entered into the throne room of the Vale, an excited Robin spotting their arrival.

“Uncle Petyr!” The boy yelled, leaping off his mother’s lap and rushing down to them. 

“My Lord,” Petyr greeted as the boy hurried down the steps. Petyr scooped him up in a hug, twirling him around a little. Y/N couldn’t help but find the moment adorable. He set Robin down again, one hand ruffling the lad’s hair. “I have brought you a gift,” he said, producing a beautiful glass bird from a velvet bag. Robin took it with a big smile before hugging Petyr again. 

“Lord Baelish,” Lysa greeted, clearly happy to see him. 

“My Lady,” he returned, false happiness lacing his words. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to not laugh or smirk.

“Look what uncle Petyr brought me!” Robin exclaimed, unaware of the finer points of politics happening beside him. 

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful boy,” Lysa said, walking down the steps towards them. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Ayrrn,” Y/N curtsied, remember her lines of the script. “My name is-” she went on, knowing she’d be cut off.

“Oh, do take down that hood child,” Lysa instructed. “Don’t you think I know who you are?”

Y/N pretended to look slightly shocked at this, as Lady Arryn reached the bottom of the steps.

“You think I’d let my intended leave the Eyrie on urgent business without knowing what that business was?” She rhetorically asked, walking over to Y/N. “I let him go so he could bring you here,” she stopped far too close for Y/N’s liking, “to me.” Lysa then took her hood off, a feeling of awkwardness rising in her. She cupped Sansa’s face, smiling. “My flesh and blood,” she commented before hugging her. Y/N knew both of their smiles had dropped but she was determined to play up to Sansa’s naivety. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Aunt Lysa,” came the dumbass words from Sansa’s mouth. Lysa was quick to pull back from the hug to scold her.

“You mustn’t call me that in front of anyone else.”

“No, of course, I understand.”

“No one can know you’re here. You’ve put us in a very precarious position.”

“I would never say a thing,” she said, holding back a yawn. 

Lysa turned to stand by Robin’s side. “The Lannisters want to destroy us. They’ve been trying for years. Now they know what it feels like.”

Robin stepped forward, playing with Petyr’s gift as though it weren’t so easily shatterable. “Mummy said they killed your mother and they chopped off your brothers head.”

“Yep, they did that alright - plus my father’s head too.”

“They killed my father too with poison,” Robin said, unaware of the glance Lysa and Petyr exchanged behind him. “I wanted to make little Lannister baby man fly but mother said I couldn’t.”

“Make him fly?” She questioned.

“Through the moondoor,” the boy replied, crouching down beside the giant hole in the stone floor. Just as he was about to throw the glass bird, Y/N spoke up.

“Wait!” She said, louder than intended. This drew everyone’s gaze to her. She out stretched her right hand, showing off the rock she had hunted for earlier. “Why don’t you throw this instead?” She suggested. “You can keep your present that way and show me how the moondoor works.”

Robin took the rock from her, exposing the bright red marks from where she had been squeezing it too hard. He threw the rock, laughing afterward as it whizzed through the open air and down towards the ground. 

“They almost made you marry that filthy troll,” Lysa snidely said.

“It would have been an unpleasant union for both of us,” Y/N replied, defending the only decent Lanninster’s honour. 

Lysa seemed unconvinced but dropped the subject when she addressed her child. “Robin, this is your cousin Sansa. But you’re not to call her Sansa in front of anyone but Uncle Petyr and myself. Do you understand?” Before he got the chance to reply, his mother plowed on. “Sansa, this is my son Robin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Robin,” she said, smiling politely.

“Robin, show Sansa to your chamber. Take the backstairs,” Lysa instructed. Robin did as he was told, leading Sansa away by the hand. She looked back at Petyr.

“Go. We’ll speak soon,” he said. And while he sounded fine, she saw how tense and tight lipped he was. She was then led out of sight and ear shot but knew exactly what was to happen next. 

Lysa wasn’t kidding. She really was a screamer and Y/N could hear it all the way from her room. As soon as the screams had started up that night, she burst out in a howl of laughter. Her body was doubled over and tears streamed down her face. Every time she was just about to regain her composure, another scream would ring out and she’d lose it all over again.

She didn’t know how many rounds the new couple went through or how much time had passed, but finally the screams died down. She was able to catch her breath and wipe the tears from her eyes. Her body was sore from laughing, her lungs burning for oxygen, her cheeks dampened by tear stains. She had just considered going to bed when footsteps hurried past her bedroom door. Stealthily, she opened the door and peaked out. A swishing black cloak was all she could glimpse of the figure who rushed out of sight.

_Now what was Petyr doing at this hour?_

She left her room and trailed him. His strides were fast which made him tricky to keep up with. He led her down the winding stairs - a tricky thing to do at speed while keeping a low profile - and into the throne room. There, he collapsed by the moondoor and began to vomit. She stopped in the doorway, stunned. His body shuddered as he brought up every meal he had ever eaten, every bit of wine he’s ever drunk. When his stomach was completely empty, he continued to retch and dry heave. She approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.

“Do you need me to hold back your hair?” She teased. He whipped round to face her, such genuine disgust and sadness etched into his face. “Sorry,” she apologised, regretting her teasing. He just sighed and turned to stare out the moondoor. She sat down next to him, reaching out with a hand to gently rub his back, hoping this would soothe him a little. He didn’t react to this, his glare concentrated to the inky darkness below them.

“Why did you go through the trouble to bring the rock?” He asked quietly.

“It was no trouble really,” she assured.

“The marks on your palm say otherwise.”

She brought her hand out in front of him. “It didn’t hurt. Besides, they’re fading - see?” Admittedly the dim light made it difficult to see much but he grunted in unconvinced agreement. She put one hand in her lap, continuing to rub his back with her other hand. “You’re one to talk about hurting oneself, sulking out here by yourself to throw up.”

“I knew you’d be nosey enough to follow me.”

“And if I didn’t? You’d be sat here by yourself, freezing your ass off for the rest of the night-”

“Don’t lecture me,” he growled.

She opened her mouth to rebuttal but held back her words and re-thought them. She sighed softly. “I’m sorry. I’m just...worried. I can’t imagine the toll this takes on you.”

“It’s a toll I’m willing to pay,” he said, steely determined as usual. 

Nothing she said would change this so she switched topics. “I hope Dwayne's okay,” she said, staring down to the ground through the moondoor.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Who’s Dwayne?”

“The rock.”

“You _named_ the rock?” He stared at her as though she were mad.

She burst out laughing, her laughter only increasing when she saw his beyond confused face. “You...wouldn’t...get it,” she wheezed.

“Right,” he said, not sure why she was laughing.

She managed to compose herself and was all business a moment later. “Right, we need to get you cleaned up. Perhaps get you something to eat and drink too.”

“I doubt I’ll keep it down.”

“Well, let’s try anyway.” She then stood up, extending a hand to help him up. He took it and they interlocked fingers so that they were holding hands. Had this happened a while back when she was much more star struck, she would be blushing something chronic. As it were, she just shared a smile with him. “Now, let’s go find the kitchens,” she said, allowing him to take the lead as he knew this place better than her. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the next day and Y/N is doing her best to annoy Lysa. Robin is unaware of the goings on, and just innocently drags Sansa outside to play in the snow.
> 
> Petyr follows to talk in private with her and all hell breaks loose from there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, these chapters seem to get longer and longer! Strap in and enjoy!
> 
> And thanks again for the kudos and hits. We just broke past 400 hits! I can't thank you all enough ^_^

Y/N had managed to find a rag that she dampened and used to clean him up with. He scowled at this treatment and snatched the rag from her, not wanting to be babied. She just sighed and rummaged around to find some food. Just something basic to fill Petyr up till breakfast. She found some bread and a little bit of wine after a few moments of searching. 

_Very Christian,_ she thought with a laugh. He shot her a confused look but she shook her head before handing him the bread and wine. Sceptical, he took bites of the bread between sips. Y/N picked up the rag and put it away vaguely. Her focus was on Petyr and making sure he got back to bed okay, she didn’t have the energy to care about putting rags away properly. Once Petyr had downed the last of the wine, he seemed a little better. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked, feeling the urge to whisper. It was extremely quiet, given the more remote location of the Ayrie and the fact it was the middle of the night.

“Better,” he said quietly. She planted a soft kiss onto his temple before ruffling his hair. He pushed her off playfully, the two of them laughing. 

“C’mon, we should go back to bed,” she said, leading him out of the kitchen.

He followed but at a slower pace. “Must I?” Petyr inquired, smirking at her.

“You must spend at least one night with your wife,” she teased from over her shoulder.

“According to you, she isn’t my wife for long.”

“Yes, well, she’s still your wife for tonight,” she replied, glancing at the moondoor as they passed it. He followed her gaze but didn’t comment. They walked up the backstairs, their footsteps echoing as they went. “They really need to put some banisters on these stairs,” she said aloud. He laughed at this, laughing even more as she began to run out of breath as they reached the top. “Shut...it,” she huffed, glaring as he silently lost it.

“Are you that out of shape?” He teased. 

“Rude...and no…that’s...just...a lot...of stairs.”

It took longer than she’d like to admit to get her breath back and the first thing she did was smack his arm lightly. He didn’t take too kindly to this, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“Sorry,” she said before making her way to the guest bedroom. He passed her on the way to Lysa, his pace dramatically slow. “Go and meet your fate!” She called to him in a stage whisper.

“Goodnight to you too,” he sarcastically returned, making her laugh. She then shut the bedroom door, yawning as her brain considered sleeping and she happily agreed. She snuggled down on the decently soft bed and soon fell asleep.

The four of them sat down for breakfast the next morning. Petyr and Lysa sat at either head of the table, Robin and Sansa sitting opposite each other in the middle. 

“Sleep well?” Lysa asked Sansa politely. 

“Yes, although I think there might be a draft near my room.”

“A draft?” She questioned.

“Yes. It sounded vaguely like screaming but it was probably just the wind,” Y/N said before addressing the boy opposite her. “Did you hear it, Robin?”

He would have answered but his mouth was full so he just shook his head. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lysa hold her utensils in a death grip as the smile on her face became even more forced. Petyr covered up his laughter with a coughing fit and reached for his goblet to ‘soothe his throat’. Y/N did her best to keep from smirking or laughing and so focused on eating her breakfast.

“Sansa, do you want to see the snow?” Robin asked once he’d finished.

“I’d love to,” she smiled and they both got up from the table. Y/N lingered to wiggle her eyebrows at Petyr before catching up with Robin. 

The two of them wandered the corridors for a little while before he led her out into a small courtyard thingy. Snow blanketed everything in pristine white. Her breath was taken away from the sheer cold and the beauty of their surroundings. Snow crunched under them as they walked, leaving behind footprints in the crisp snow. A snowball was then pelted at her and she whipped round to Robin. He looked scared for a moment but she smirked.

“Game on,” she laughed, throwing a snowball back at him. Soon they were both laughing as they battled, snow exploding and coating their hair, skin, and clothes. They ducked and dived and snuck shots when the other was distracted. Robin packed a snowball tight and launched it at Sansa. She ducked and heard it explode behind her. She turned and saw Petyr standing not too far away, snow covering his face. 

“Uncle Baelish!” Robin cried, worried about his uncle. 

“I’m fine,” Petyr replied, spitting out snow that had landed in his mouth while he used his hands to clear his face. “I’d like a word with Sansa.” Robin didn’t move for a moment. “In _private_ ,” he clarified, finally getting Robin to clear off. Once the boy was out of ear shot, Y/N burst out laughing. Petyr rolled his eyes, using his sleeve to get the last of the snow off. 

“Why were you skulking around?” She teased once her laughter had died down. 

“I needed to escape Lysa, lest I throw up in her company.”

“That would be bad for appearances.”

“Indeed.”

She stepped close to him, batting her eyelashes. “So, you wanted to talk to me _privately?”_

“While this game is fun, I have a better one,” he smirked.

“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow.

He gently cupped her cheeks and brought her in for a kiss. His hands were pleasantly warm but his lips were burning hot. She was stunned for a moment, her brain going completely blank before she realised she had to kiss back - which she did so eagerly. Her hands held onto his shoulders for support. The kiss was sweet and slow, romantic even. Though neither of them wanted to, they had to break off the kiss to be able to breathe. They remained close, not wanting to part. Her face was flushed from the cold and the kiss.

He smiled at her. “You look adorable.”

This deepened her blush. She then felt an intense glare bore into the side of her head, knowing Lysa was watching them. She pulled Petyr into another kiss, surprising him a little. This time, his hunger bubbled to the surface and he tried to introduce some tongue. Once the glare had shifted, Y/N pulled back from the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyes scanning her face.

“Nothing, I’m just cold. So we should continue this somewhere warmer~” She seductively suggested. They shared a smirk before heading back inside. 

Before either of them could seek further privacy, a servant rushed over to them.

“Lady Arryn wishes to see you, m’lady,” the servant said, addressing Sansa. “And she’s requested to see you alone,” the servant continued, glancing at Petyr. Petyr was suspicious but Y/N communicated reassurance to him through her gentle expression. She then walked off, leaving the two men behind. 

She was composed and calm when she entered the throne room. “You wanted to see me, Aunt Lysa.” Y/N knew Sansa phrased this as a question in the show, but her higher confidence allowed her to phrase it as a statement.

Lysa stood by the moondoor’s edge, staring down into the open space even as she spoke. “Come here Sansa.”

“I’m fine where I am,” she replied, not moving an inch.

Lysa glared at her from over her shoulder. “I always knew you were disrespectful but to act like a whore and throw yourself at my husband is just _sickening!”_

“I think you’ll find he came onto me,” she corrected in an _‘um actually’_ way. 

“Don’t make up lies, whore!” She screeched. “I saw you kiss him. Right in front of me - I saw it with my own eyes!”

“I never said I didn’t enjoy it,” she smirked.

Lysa charged at her, clearing the distance quicker than expected. Y/N sidestepped, backing up to give her more room to work. She’d seen enough movies and YouTube videos to know the basics of fighting. Still, this dress wasn’t helping. She rushed to meet Lysa, the two of them colliding and grappling with each other. For an older woman with thin arms, Lysa sure had an iron grip. Nails dug into Sansa’s arms, Y/N fighting to break an arm free. She managed to twist out of Lysa’s grip and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it back hard. A fist connected with her jaw with enough force to knock Y/N to the ground. She rolled in an effort to save herself from being injured and keep distance between them both. Lysa recovered and dove onto Y/N, pinning her down before she could scramble up. Using strength she didn’t visibly possess, Lysa pushed them both over to the moondoor. Scraping along that stone floor was unpleasant enough, but the sick feeling when the ground was suddenly not supporting her head anymore was enough to nearly make her throw up right there and then. She could see the ground, hundreds of feet down, no doubt eager to meet her acquaintance.

“My father, my husband, my sister - they all stood between us and now they’re all dead! _That’s_ what happens to people who stand between Petyr and me!” The batty lady screamed. “Look down! Look down! Look down!” She ordered, grabbing hold of Sansa’s throat and forcing her head back further than it should go. 

“LYSA!” Petyr roared. Lysa looked to her husband. “Let her go.”

It took a second or two, but Lysa’s hands were removed from Sansa’s throat and she stood up, allowing Y/N to scramble up and roll away to the side. She remained on the floor, coughing and dizzy from being upside down. 

“She’s just like her mother - she’ll never love you! I lied for you, I _killed_ for you!” Lysa yelled in anguish. “Why did you bring her here? Why?!”

Y/N could see the serious and deadly expression cement itself on Petyr’s face as Lysa’s words struck him. He had no words for her, which made Lysa break down crying. He approached her slowly, ignoring Y/N for now.

“Oh my sweet wife,” he said, nearly gagging on the words. He crouched beside the sobbing lady. “My sweet, _silly_ wife.” Embracing her, he helped her stand. Her sobs had died down now. “I have only loved one woman. Only one my entire life.” He was as serious as the grave, a sober honesty present. Lysa laughed a little and smiled. 

And then he delivered the killing blow.

“Your sister,” he finished in a whisper. Shock and disbelief froze on her face and he shoved her as hard as he could. She fell backwards, tumbling through the moondoor. Unlike in the show, Lysa was quiet. A whisper of the wind was all the sound they heard as she fell. Petyr stared down as she descended, watching her until she was nothing more than a speck too small to make out. Neither of them moved for a moment; Petyr too consumed with revenge, Y/N having an adrenaline crash. He then seemed to snap back to reality and rushed over to her side. “Did she injure you?” He inquired.

“No, no. I’m fine,” she answered, voice shakier than anticipated.

He helped her up and pulled her into a tight embrace. His arms slipped around her waist, hers around his neck. They could feel their hearts beat in time. They each searched for the other’s lips, meeting with a sweet kiss. It was a brief one as he pulled back to speak.

“We must celebrate this,” he said, in a much cheerier mood. After a smile of confirmation, he whisked her away to the master bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT! Smutty smut smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the 'eventual smut' promised in the tags. Enjoy ;)

Unseen by anyone, they slipped away from the scene of the tragic accident and were quick to head to the master bedroom. Up the stairs they hurried, Petyr dragging her along as he was a few steps ahead. Once they reached the bedroom, they quickly shut the door and locked it. 

Then their passion spiked.

They greeted the other with hungry kisses as hands all but tore clothes off. Y/N had an easier time getting his clothes off than vice versa and so he was the first one to show some skin. Being a Lord, he was decently fed but his body was on the thinner side, with skin as pale as snow. He possessed a small amount of greying chest hair but the thing that caught her eye was the scar. It ran vertical across his torso, from stomach to sternum. She knew it was a bad move to stare so turned around.

“Help me out of this dress~” she purred. He was quick to step forward and start unlacing the dress. He muttered and swore under his breath, causing her to giggle. 

“Bloody thing,” he growled in frustration, fingers fumbling. He gained a new appreciation for handmaids.

“Why don’t you just tear it?” She suggested with a smirk. “We can blame it on Lysa during the inquiry.”

Petyr apparently didn’t hear the second part as he simply tore the dress without question. The outer layer was discarded on the floor, leaving her standing there in her plain under layers. He sighed but had a much easier time stripping her. Finally, she was fully naked. Sansa had a slim frame, skin pale and flawless. This made her red hair even more striking. What his gaze lingered on were her small but firm breasts. 

“You just gonna stare?” She teased, jiggling her boobs as she moved. This prompted him to spin her around so she fell onto the bed. She scooted to the middle, allowing him room on the bed too. He crawled over to her and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. It was short as he switched to kissing a trail down her body. He stopped to mark a few hickies on her neck and collar bones, making her hiss with a mix of pain and pleasure. Next, he stopped to suck on her nipples. This brought a small moan to her lips but he continued downward. His kisses over her lower torso tickled and then he reached the tops of her thighs, she spread her legs automatically. 

“Already wet for me~” He growled, voice husky with arousal.

“You’re tented too~” She smirked, eyeing his crotch. His cock was indeed fully erect and creating a wonderful tent in the trousers he was still wearing. 

He laid down on his front between her welcoming thighs and flicked out his tongue to taste her, groaning with approval at the flavour. His then ravenous mouth was upon her, his tongue attacking her cunt. A steady screams of moans fell from her mouth, brain becoming fuzzy around the edges as pleasure built. He knew what he was doing and was very enthusiastic about it, making things both sweeter and sexier.

He raised his head to swipe his tongue over her clit before dipping his head down to prod at her entrance. These actions, combined with the extra roughness his facial hair created, caused a hitch in her breath and louder moans. She could feel him smirk and then repeat the actions, faster this time. She balled up the sheets and arched her back as her moans turned into screams. Petyr had to pin her hips down in order to keep her lower half still as he kept up his actions. 

Pleasure now completely clouded her mind, leaving no room for thoughts and completely focusing on his marvellous mouth and talented tongue. Her climax started to build, whines as well as moans being pulled from her. Higher and higher her climax rose, until she was just about to tip over-

He pulled away suddenly, killing all sensation. She cried out in frustration, crashing back down to reality and flopping back down on the bed. He was now sat up, the lower half of his face covered in her slickness. He caught her eye and flicked his tongue out to collect the juices on his face. Despite her frustration, this aroused her.

Still, revenge was on her mind and so she sat up. She grabbed a hold of his waistband and slipped his trousers off of him. His boner bounced free and she got a good look at it. It was average in length (about 6-6.5 inches) but was thick when it came to girth. It also curved slightly upwards.

“I don’t think that’ll fit,” she accidentally said aloud.

“Well, why don’t you try?~” He smirked, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. She lowered her head to give the tip small licks, drawing a low moan from him. She grew more adventurous, circling and swiping with her tongue in the same way he had. His free hand played with her hair, occasionally giving a small playful nudge to the back of the head to encourage her to take more in her mouth. She did pop the tip in and he groaned at how wet and warm she was. He bucked ever so slightly and she grabbed his hips to keep him steady. She then began to slowly bob her head, taking in just a little more of him each time. Growling with impatience, he tried to buck again but she dug her nails into him causing a small hiss of pain. She took about half of him before she pulled back. He strangled a whine, letting go of her hair as she laid back.

“Come and fuck me, _Petyr~”_ She purred, placing a sensual emphasis on his name. Tingles travelled down his spine and didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly positioned himself, lining up his cock so that it pressed against her entrance. After a few teasing prods, he thrusted into her. Sansa was a virgin and so she was unbelievably tight. The sensation was similar to having one’s dick in a vice clamp. Given the tightness, it made Y/N feel so full and it made Petyr feel a hell of a lot bigger. _He’d be pleased with that,_ she thought wickedly. Shallow thrusts were used to loosen her up, soft grunts being pulled from him and low moans being heard from her. Soon, she was loose enough for the real fucking to begin.

“I must warn you,” Petyr panted, “once I go rough, I can’t stop.”

“Go for it babe,” she smirked and brought him for a bruising kiss. He drew back, so that only the tip remained inside, and then slammed his cock back inside. Her moans were swallowed by the kiss. He repeated this thrusting style, speeding up the pace whilst seeming to go even deeper. She ran a hand through his hair, messing up the neat locks, while her other hand rested further down his back. Legs spread further to give him more room to work with, hooking onto his hips to keep them out of the way. Their kiss continued; nipping at each other's lips and clacking teeth together as their brutal ways possessed them. A particularly deep thrust sent sparks flying as her pleasure spiked. She broke the kiss to scream in pleasure, body writhing a little. He stilled his thrusts to grind against that spot, more screams and writhing being his reward.

“That’s it, scream for me~” He growled, lust lacing his voice. He began to thrust again, making sure to hit her g-spot each and every time. Her nails scratched up his back, the grip on his hair tightening. Soon, the previously denied pleasure came crashing down on her in a full body shuddering orgasm. A long drawn out scream was sure to alert the whole of the Eyrie about it. She had become vice-like again and so Petyr wasn’t far behind her. With an animistic growl, he buried himself as deep as he could go and came into her. The two of them stayed like that for a moment before detangling to get into a comfier position. He laid on his back, scar on show. She was quick to cuddle up to him, his arm wrapping around her. They shared a gentle kiss and basked quietly in the afterglow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this week I shall be having A Level mock exams - meaning this story progress will be slower as revision is important :p


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Someone has to tell Robin.”
> 
> “...”
> 
> “Oh, shit! That’s us”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Yes, yes, I'm supposed to be revising, but writing fanfic is so much fun! 
> 
> So enjoy my slacking off :p

Y/N rested her head on his chest, one hand resting on his hip. They were both silent, only their quiet breathing being heard. 

“You spoke of an inquiry,” Petyr suddenly said. He looked down at her with a slightly raised eyebrow.

She stared back at him, trying to keep her composure. “Well, Lysa’s death won’t be swept under the rug - the other Lords and Lady of the Vale will ask questions.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this beforehand?” 

She pushed off of him, sitting up in a huff. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want her dead!” 

“We could have planned it better, that’s all,” he replied in a calm manner, gently pulling her back in for a cuddle. 

His logical response diffused her anger and she rested against him. “I should have told you.”

“What’s done is done,” he said, stroking her hair. “We just have to plan for the inquiry.”

“Simple - we reveal that I’m ‘Sansa’ and that you’ve saved my life. They’ll love that and we can then get them on side.”

“And Lysa’s death?”

“She was mad and jealous of us - ridiculous unfounded nonsense,” she laughed.

“Indeed,” he chuckled.

“What about Robin?”

“Hmm?”

“We need to tell his mother is dead. Poor boy - first his father was murdered, now his mother.”

“He’ll be fine,” Petyr replied absently.

“He’s a proper Lord of the Vale now.”

“Not quite as he’s not of age.”

“As his father by marriage, you’re regent, right?”

He took a second to consider this, a faint smile upon his face. “Yes I am.”

“Power! _Finally,”_ she said, no doubt voicing his thoughts aloud. 

“I didn’t know you could read minds,” he teased.

She laughed at this but couldn’t shake the image of Robin’s sad face from her mind. “He needs to be told.”

“Perhaps he does,” Petyr sighed.

“We should teach him.”

“Teach him what?”

“How to hold a sword, use a bow, ride a horse, and so on.”

“He really does need to learn all those things,” he conceded. “Very well, he shall learn.”

“I shall also have to learn those things,” she reminded him.

He paused for a second, momentarily confused. “Ah, yes, Sansa’s skills don’t transfer over.”

“Nope,” she said, gaze flicking down to his scar. He seemed to have enough of her staring as he slipped his undershirt back on. “Yeah, I need to borrow some of your clothes.”

“Will they fit you?” He mused, scanning over her body. 

“We’re about the same height, about the same amount up top, and I don’t exactly have child bearing hips,” she teasingly replied. “So, your clothes should fit.”

He grabbed a spare set of clothes from the wardrobe and they both got dressed. The undershirt was loose and hid their frames. The trousers fit him better and she struggled with them not staying on her hips. 

“Belt?” He suggested, watching her struggle with a smirk. 

“If you have one,” she said, holding her trousers up manually. He dug in the wardrobe for a moment before producing a leather strap passing as a crude belt. She tied it around her waist and it did its job. Petyr was now putting on his outer clothing in a quick and practised fashion although it looked a lot fiddlier than he made it seem. She searched the wardrobe for something suitable to wear. All she could find were various versions of what he was wearing and she did not want to look like a mini Petyr. Instead, she gave up and shut the wardrobe doors. “Did you deal with Ros in the end?” She suddenly asked, tone nonchalant.

“Indeed.”

“Another death on our hands,” she commented whilst straightening out his sigil pin. “Ah well!” She then headed for the door.

“You’re improperly dressed,” he pointed out.

“Fashion isn’t everything,” she teased.

“No but function is,” he retorted. “You’ll freeze without proper dress.”

“So find me some furs,” she sighed. He rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair to sort it out. Smugly, she skipped out of the room once he had unlocked it, Petyr a few steps behind her.

* * *

Sure enough, she was shivering not even ten minutes later. 

“I told you so,” Petyr smirked, looking as smug as she had felt earlier.

“C-call a s-servant,” she ordered, trying to sound pissed but her chattering teeth just made him laugh. He called a servant and told him to fetch some spare furs. Once the servant was out of sight, Y/N clung to Petyr to steal his warmth.

“Now, Alayne, aren’t you a bit old to do that?” He said this loud enough to be overheard by passing servants and guards, much to her annoyance.

“I’ll k-kill you,” she threatened, glaring up at him.

“I don’t doubt it,” he smiled, the way one would smile at a growling puppy.

“B-bastard.”

“I’m actually legitimate.”

Footsteps heading in their direction put an end to their banter and she let go of Petyr and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. The servant had returned with the spare furs, giving them to Sansa before being dismissed by Petyr. Y/N fumbled with putting them on but wrapped them tightly around her once she did. 

“Better?” Petyr asked.

“We’ll s-see,” she said before stomping off to try and warm up.

* * *

About half an hour later, they found Robin in the throne room. He was kneeling by the moondoor, staring down with fascination. He spotted them once they were a few steps from him and turned his attention to them.

“Have either of you seen my mummy?” He asked.

Y/N glanced at Petyr. They hadn’t discussed the issue beyond vague detail. They couldn’t afford to have the young Lord’s fragile state take a turn for the worst. So, a moment of silence passed before she decided to break it.

“Robin, do you think your mother was happy?” She questioned.

“She was with me. And with Uncle Petyr,” he replied. “Why?”

“Your mummy didn’t like me very much,” she answered, walking over to crouch down next to him.

“She didn’t?” As suspected, he was unaware of the subtle hatred Lysa had for Sansa and vice versa.

“No. Did you know that your mummy and uncle Petyr got married?” She inquired. He shook his head and she continued. “Your mummy loved Petyr very much.”

“As much as she loved me?” Behind his innocence was a hint of jealousy that she was quick to smooth away.

“Not quite,” she said, which brought a small smile to his face. “Now, Petyr and I are friends. Close friends. This is something your mummy didn’t like - she thought I would try to steal him away from her.” 

“Why?” Robin was clearly puzzled.

“I’m not sure. She called me in here and attacked me. If it weren’t for Petyr, I would have gone through the moon door. She began crying and screaming, saying crazy and untrue things. Petyr tried to calm her down but she was too far gone and she...she jumped out the moondoor.”

Shock and sadness crashed down onto Robin and he became hysterical at the news. “MUMMY!” He screamed, almost diving out of the moondoor. Y/N quickly grabbed a hold of him and wrenched him away. For a small and sickly boy, he was able to summon a lot of strength as he lashed out. Petyr was quick to lend a hand in distancing the boy from the moondoor. Robin’s strength drained quickly and he slumped into her arms, crying his eyes out. Y/N’s heart hurt for the little mite and she hugged him, letting him cry into her borrowed fur. “F-first my father, n-now my m-mummy,” he sobbed.

“I miss my parents too,” Y/N softly said. Tears pricked in her eyes and she blinked rapidly to keep them from falling. Arms wrapped around them and Petyr pulled them into a hug. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and this act, so sweet and simple, was enough to let her tears slip silently down her cheeks. It took a while for all of their tears to be shed but they were eventually done. Petyr stepped back slightly, giving them some room. Sansa took a step back as well, leaning down so she was more on Robin’s level. “We are going to be stronger than our sadness. Together we will fight and we will win,” she promised. His eyes went wide with awe. “And that starts with having a good dinner,” she said, lightening her tone from the heavy intensity it had before. Robin nodded enthusiastically and the three of them headed off to have dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go revise now...


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin has a nightmare and wants to sleep in their bed...much to Petyr's annoyance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short and fluffy chapter with Robin slowly becoming my son...What can I say? I have a soft spot for the underdog :p
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

After dinner came an early night and, instead of returning to the guest room, Y/N was welcomed into the master bedroom. They had both stripped, intending to get it on, but sleep struck them. So, they instead settled down under the sheets, comfortably tangled in each other's arms. Petyr was very quick to fall asleep but Y/N had a little more trouble getting used to someone else in the bed. Still, they were able to rest.

Until a knock at the door woke them up.

Sleepy grunts sounded from them and foggy minds were what they had to make a coherent sentence with.

“Enter,” Petyr yawned.

The door creaked open and in the gloom they could make out a boy standing there.

“Robin?” Y/N sleepily asked.

“I...I had a nightmare,” Robin sheepishly told her.

With a groan, Petyr flopped back down onto the bed. She elbowed him to stop him from falling asleep just yet.

“What?” He hissed.

“Don’t be so insensitive,” she whispered with a frown. She turned back to Robin. “Are you okay?”

“Can...can I sleep in your bed?” He innocently inquired.

Petyr buried his head into the pillow, muttering curse words. She shook his shoulder to get his attention. 

“What now?” He snarled, clearly very irritated.

“The boy is upset,” she sternly told him, stifling a yawn.

“The boy needs to sleep in his own bed,” he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes before turning back to Robin. “You can - _just_ for tonight.” Robin was happy to hear and he quickly closed the door before joining them in bed. He plonked himself in between them, hogging the blankets already. Y/N sighed and settled again, trying to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, the boy had questions. 

“Why are you sharing a bed with uncle Petyr?” Robin whispered.

“Because he was upset about your mummy’s...departure,” she delicately put. She heard Petyr’s muffled scoff which thankfully Robin either didn’t hear or didn’t understand. “And because he’s upset, I’m comforting him. Like friends do.”

“Oh,” the boy nodded, pretending to understand.

“You mustn’t tell other people about this - they may misunderstand and have the wrong idea,” she warned. Petyr, the unhelpful bastard, started laughing but was smooth enough to cover it up with some fake coughing. Robin once again nodded and seemed to be satisfied with the answers as he shut up and closed his eyes. Y/N followed his lead, ignoring Petyr’s unhappy expression in the process.

From an outsider's perspective, they could be mistaken for a family. And Y/N didn’t know what she thought of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, revision, got it...


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's training begins! Kinda. Y/N is working to get him ready by making him go on walks and making sure he's eating well. On such a walk, she ponders the side effects of her stay (something Petyr says she shouldn't worry about) and they prep for the inquiry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter because revision is eating up my time. Enjoy anyway ^_^

In order to get Robin used to taking on his Lord related responsibilities, the three of them have decided to go on a casual stroll of the grassy grounds that surround the Eyrie. Two Vale Guards trail along behind them. Their presence both worries and reassures Robin. The young lord is sandwiched in between the two pairs, safely kept in the middle. Petyr and Sansa lead the way, walking side by side as they set a leisurely pace. Clouds hung in the sky, blocking the sunlight so as to make it colder. Y/N had made sure to wrap herself and Robin up in warm furs. The boy hid his face in his furs as the wind lashed at them.

“Don’t you think we should have waited for the weather to be better?” She whispered to Petyr.

“Why wait? The best time to start is now,” he replied.

She cast a sympathetic but encouraging look to Robin before facing forward. Greenery made grey by the more sour weather was all around them, the light drizzle made the rocks hidden by the grass slippery. Since Y/N was no longer wearing that ridiculous dress (as pretty as it was) and she had found some sturdy boots, she didn’t have to worry about tripping all the time. The boots had an impressive grip that allowed her to traverse the rocks with a mountain goat’s grace. Even Robin was able to keep up and he wasn’t complaining about the awful walking conditions. 

“I wonder what the side effects of my long stay are,” she thought aloud to Petyr.

“It’s a good question but one you can’t dwell on,” he answered wisely.

“We need a plan in place for if _it_ happens.”

“Perhaps but we must soldier on. We can’t afford to waste a single moment. Just concentrate on the task at hand.”

“But what will you do with the vessel?” She pressed anxiously. 

“We’ll just lock her in the guest room. Say she’s sick and currently in isolation,” he matter-of-factly said.

“Alright,” she sighed before focusing on more current matters. “The inquiry?”

He glanced at her. “We’ve already talked about that.”

“Yes, but what about the dress? We need to make it look ruined and slightly aged.”

“Stain it with wine and leave it for a bit. That should do the trick.”

“Fine but you’re helping me.”

“Very well,” he sighed.

They continued walking. They weren’t that far away, Petyr had elected (for the purposes of safety) to walk in a giant circle so that they would wind up back at the Eyrie at the end. Or perhaps sooner if the weather took a sudden turn for the worst. Y/N looked back at Robin. Despite the no doubt miserable time he was having, he was trudging along without complaint. He had a spoiled and sheltered upbringing but instead of turning out like a right prick (Joffrey sprung to mind, making her shiver) he was...placid. Still, he wouldn’t remain that way for long.

Are you excited to start training soon?” She asked Robin.

“Training?” He asked, voice small.

“Well, you’ll grow up to be the Lord of the Vale. You can’t do that if you don’t know how to hold a sword and ride a horse,” she explained, excitement creeping into her voice.

“Oh, right,” the boy nodded, not really understanding.

“Don’t worry, my Lord,” Petyr said, giving Y/N a quick look that reminded her to focus. “Holding a sword isn’t the be all, end all. Men can still be powerful even if they aren’t gifted in combat.”

“Exactly,” Y/N smiled. “Once we get back, we’ll have lunch and then hit the books.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be training then?” Robin asked.

“How are you supposed to swing a sword if you don’t know the first thing about them?” She replied. He simply accepted this and they continued their walk in relative silence. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparation for training begins! Robin and Y/N use sticks as practice swords to get used to the movements and stances. Y/N also ropes Petyr in to fully trash her dress in the run up to the inquiry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe during the covid-19 pandemic. Remember to wash your hands, don't touch your face - all that jazz.
> 
> My condolences to UK students (of which I am one) - Boris hasn't closed the schools yet so that sux.
> 
> Regardless, enjoy the new chapter!

Y/N had scoured the Eyrie for books but since Westeros was stuck in a time before the printing press, they were hard to come by. Still, after an exhaustive search, she finally found the perfect book.

“The young lord’s guide to swordsmanship,” she read aloud. Tucking it under her arm, she headed off to the throne room. Robin was found perched by the moondoor. _Perhaps he’s too interested in that,_ she thought but shrugged it off. “Robin, close it. We don’t want to fall through accidentally,” she instructed. He was quick to comply and soon joined her at her side. She began to flick through the book, skimming sections in her hunt for applicable knowledge. “Ah ha! Here we go,” she said, having found a section on practising with wooden swords. “Do you have any wooden swords?” She asked Robin.

He shook his head. “No, mummy wouldn’t let me have any. Too dangerous.”

“Hmm, okay. Well, we could go on a quick hunt for suitable sticks,” she suggested.

Robin seemed to like this idea and, after leaving the book safely on the throne, they hurried outside to find sticks. A drizzle of rain had come and gone, wetting the ground outside. Still, this didn’t deter them. They found many twigs but these were useless. They wandered over to a clump of trees and searched the ground for fallen sticks. Many were the wrong size or flimsy. Finally, however, Y/N found two perfectly sized sticks. Okay, so they weren’t all that sword shaped, but it was a start. She let Robin pick the stick he wanted and took the other stick for her own. They stripped the sticks of the small twigs branching off of it before heading back inside.

“Right,” she said, consulting the book. “Swordsmanship requires good coordination of hand and foot,” she read. “A lord needs to deal heavy blows that injure the enemy. Thrusts and cuts are offensively preferred while counterattacks and deflecting actions are defensively preferred.” She looked up and saw the Robin wasn’t able to take in the words. “Basically, slash and block,” she simplified. Still confused but powering through, he just nodded. She went back to the book. After a few moments of further reading, she got into position. Her body was sideways on, her knees bent with her weight evenly distributed over each leg. She then lent forward slightly on her right leg, her right arm holding the stick aloft to Robin.

“Why are you sideways?” He questioned.

“This position makes my body a smaller target so I’m harder to hit,” she explained. “When it comes to combat, you don’t want to be hit.”

“Ah,” he nodded and got into the same position.

“Are you left or right handed?” 

“Right, I think?”

“Change if you need to. For now, let’s practice.” She waited for him to make the first move. He went for a slash, his stick going wide, and his follow-through was a bit enthusiastic which left him open for an easy backslash. He returned to his original position. “Good follow-through but dial it back a bit. A backslash is not ideal,” she told him, making sure to keep things light. He nodded and began again.

Robin was beginning to be enthusiastic about his training preparation. So much so that he would bug Y/N to go for a walk with him or practise sword skills. She had entrusted Robin with a small amount of responsibility when she stashed their sticks and the book in his room. He seemed to delight in someone actually liking and trusting him. Robin kept her on her toes and she was left too tired to spare a thought for the goings on in her own reality. One evening, when she wasn’t left tired after a jam packed day, she roped Petyr into destroying her dress.

“You seriously can’t do this yourself?” He said humorously. He lent back against the wall, the stone’s coldness not bothering him. 

“Oh, shut it and help me pick out some disposable wine,” she said snipplily. 

“I’m supervising,” he informed her.

“Supervising my struggle,” she snapped. Indeed, she was struggling. For some reason, the wine that Lysa had hated was kept up high. Actually, that made logical sense but that didn’t help the two shorties. “Make yourself useful and fetch me a chair,” she ordered. He rolled his eyes but walked away to get her a chair. She gave up trying to reach a bottle on her tiptoes and waited for him to get back. Silence fell, giving her brain ample time to bring up things she rather forget.

_You’ve been here quite a while,_ a little voice said.

_Your parents must be worried_ **_sick_ ** _,_ another voice chipped in. 

She held her head in her hands, grip tight as she tried to force the voices of doubt away. Her body started to writhe, balance going as her legs turned to jelly. She toppled into the shelves of wine, dimly aware of bottles smashing onto the ground. Wine formed puddles under her, clinging to her clothes in an unpleasantly sticky fashion. The room began to spin and she couldn’t catch her breath.

_Don’t send me back. Don’t send me back._

“Y/N!” Petyr called, her real name slipping out. He rushed over to her and scooped her up in his arms. She was unresponsive, tongue tied down by invisible weights. The room continued to spin and her eyes rolled back. A blurry image was seen in her mind’s eye. It was all shapes in a dimly lit room but it slowly sharpened into focus;

_Robin was awake in his room, messing about with his training stick. He then started to lose control of his limbs and thrash about. His shaking became very violent and he crashed onto his bed._

She snapped to, much to Petyr’s relief, but her own fear was doubled. “Robin’s having a seizure!” She cried before scrambling up and rushing off to save the boy. Petyr was quick to follow and the two of them raced up to Robin’s room. Normally she wouldn’t have the stamina to make it up the stairs without stopping to catch her breath, but sheer adrenaline spurred her on and she beat Petyr to the top. She slammed her body into the bedroom door, causing a loud **bang** as it hit the wall and rebounded. By that time, she had reached Robin and Petyr was able to simply push the door open to get in. 

Robin was convulsing on the bed, hitting the side of his head against the wall. Y/N quickly grabbed the boy and moved him away from the wall. She gently rolled him onto his side before stepping back to monitor.

“What do we do?!” Petyr asked frantically. This was the first time she had seen him panic, and it made her very uneasy. Her adrenaline protected her from her own panic as she tried to recall what she had read on the internet.

“We’re just supposed to watch and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or choke,” she told him. He didn’t seem to like that idea but did as she suggested, the two of them standing by the bed as Robin continued to convulse. She felt useless just standing there like a lemon but it was the best course of action. This seemed to be Petyr’s first time witnessing Robin’s seizures, and she doubted any guards or servants understood what was happening, meaning Lysa had been left alone to deal with them. She left a twinge of sympathy for the crazy woman, as well as a deeper understanding of why she sheltered the boy so much.

Eventually, the seizure stopped. Robin was still but a little groggy. 

“Robin? Robin can you hear me?” She asked, peering down at the pale lad. He nodded, gaze unfocused. 

“Can you speak?” Petyr chipped in. His composure seemed to have returned but worry still lingered.

“Yes...” he answered weakly. 

“Are you hurt?” Y/N inquired.

“No…” 

She gently perched on the side of the bed. “You should sleep on your side, keep your airways unblocked,” she advised. He nodded and yawned a little before settling down to sleep. Quietly, she put the stick away before leaving the room. Petyr followed, silently shutting the door behind him. Y/N was now aware of the sticky wine and how drained she was now the adrenaline had worn off. 

Petyr noticed this too and spoke up. “You should change and get some sleep.”

“But what about the dress?” She asked, yawning in the middle.

He stepped close and gently cupped her face, his beautiful eyes the centre of her attention. “I’ll sort that out,” he promised. They shared a short but sweet kiss before he stepped back. “I’ll also send for a servant to deal with your clothes.”

“Night Petyr.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

They went their separate ways; Petyr heading back down the stairs, Y/N heading for the master bedroom for some well earned sleep. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inquiry begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe out there, folks. And enjoy the chapter ^_^

It was a lovely day. Blue cloudless skies had blessed them with warmer weather that made for great walking conditions. Since they were very close to the Eyrie, no guards needed to be present which allowed them some privacy. Robin was having a fun time and so didn’t worry about being out in the open.

Until a guard approached.

“M’Lady, m’Lord sends for you,” the guard told Sansa.

“Ah, yes,” Y/N nodded. “Guard, could you escort Lord Robin back inside?”

“But we’re supposed to have our sword practice,” Robin said, close to whining. 

“We can practice later,” she promised. “Right now, I have to speak to Lord Baelish - _alone_.” Robin was disappointed but trudged after the guard as he was escorted back inside. She hurried off in a different direction, guessing where Petyr would be.

She didn’t expect Petyr to be in the first corridor and so nearly smacked into him. 

“Give a girl some warning,” she huffed jokingly. 

“Have a read of this,” he said, passing her the small scroll. The seal had already been broken but she recognised the falcon. She read the message, eyebrows raising when she saw the word _‘inquiry’._

“Well, they’re pretty blatant,” she commented, handing him it back.

He rolled up the scroll and delicately slipped it into his sleeve. “That’s because it’s addressed to me,” he explained, a forced smile on his face. 

“Is everything ready?”

“Not quite. Best not keep them waiting.”

Since the Lords and Lady would be arriving that evening, they spent the rest of the day readying for their arrival. This meant a change of clothes and a cleaning of the Eyrie. Servants were busy rushing to and fro, causing quite a stir in the usually still Eyrie. This drew Robin’s attention.

“What’s going on?” He asked Y/N.

She jumped slightly as he suddenly appeared at her elbow. “The other Lords and Lady of the Vale are arriving here this evening,” she told him.

“Why?”

 _So full of questions,_ she silently sighed but fought her annoyance. “They wish to speak to Uncle Petyr and myself.”

“What about?”

“Terribly boring things,” she said, hiding a yawn but slipping Robin a subtle wink so he felt in on the joke. He laughed at this, seeming content now his questions were answered. Petyr wandered into view and cast her a stern look, telling her to _“get rid of the boy”_. She turned back to Robin, lowering her voice a little. “Why don’t you go to your room? You can practice your stances.”

“But you said we could practice later,” he said, his voice having a whiny edge.

“Something else has come up so we can’t practice today. I’m sorry Robin.”

The boy pouted before turning and making the long trek to his room. She sent for a guard to escort the young lord and then sighed quietly.

“I swear I saw a pout,” she said, knowing Petyr was standing close to her without looking.

“He’s still a child in many ways,” Petyr replied.

“We should get him ready to be a man.”

“Indeed,” he nodded before changing topic. “Is everything ready?”

“Yep. Dress is ready to be presented, we have a room set up for them, security is tightened, and servants are on hand.”

“And the boy?”

“Safely tucked away in his room. I sent a guard along to accompany him.”

“Good,” he said, peering at her a little closer. “And how about yourself?”

“It is important you convince them, just don’t go overboard.”

“I’ve done this before haven’t I?” She teased, thinking back to the time she had to plead to Joffrey.

“This is different,” he told her, suddenly as serious as the grave. 

This sobered her up and she nodded. “I understand and I won’t let you down.”

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. “I know,” he said, eyes piercing her for a moment before he turned and walked away. Y/N watched him but he didn’t even glance back. She took a breath to steady herself, she needed all her concentration if they were to convince the Lords and Lady.

* * *

Petyr sat in the prepared room, opposite the Lords and Lady. There was a moment’s silence as they all considered their first move.

“You have foreign blood, don’t you Baelish?” Lord Royce of House Runestone asked. A low blow to have a dig at Petyr’s background **and** forgo his earned title all in one breath. Still, Petyr knew better than to give into the frustration and just answered his question.

“A great grandfather from Bravos, yes,” he said. “I suppose all of our ancestors came from somewhere else originally.”

“Our forebears settled the Vale thousands of years ago. We’ve fought off invaders ever since,” Lord Royce lectured, keen to let Petyr know about the elitism his House carried. Petyr silently thanked him for the history lesson.

“The beauty of the Vale is matched only by the nobility of it’s great families,” Petyr replied, mildly flatteringly. “Lady Arryn often told me that you were a rock, Lord Royce.”

“She told me nothing about you, Baelish,” Lord Royce said, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. The leaving out of titles cut Petyr just a bit deeper but he could bear it. He had done so all his life, he was not about to snap now. “But I didn’t need to hear from her,” the Lord continued. “Moneylender, whoremonger. You’ve been licking Tywin Lannister’s boots so long, it’s a wonder your tongue isn’t black.” Petyr made to speak but the Lord was quick to impose his boorish voice on the rest of them. “And when Jon Arryn made you Master of Coin, no one cared. Always been a grubby job, why not let a grubby man do it. But when I heard you were lurking here, fawning over the Lady Arryn-”

Petyr finally got a chance to slice through Royce’s monotone voice. “Lady Arryn invited me. She and I have been close since childhood-”

It was Lady Waynwood’s turn to cut him off. “Yes, we all know how close you were. Lady Arryn's predilections were her own affair. Her death is our affair.”

“Of course,” Petyr nodded. “I noticed something wasn’t right the evening I returned. She seemed to be incredibly focused on my guest, irrational anger and jealousy soon following.”

“Your guest?” Ser Corbray inquired.

“To the outside world, she is my niece Alayne. In reality, she is Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”

This revelation shocked them, in just the way Petyr relished in. “Ned Stark’s daughter?” Lord Royce asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes my lord,” Petyr clarified.

“But why would _you_ risk the trouble of bringing her here?” Lady Waynwood questioned, suspicion clipping her words. 

“Sansa was to be wed to Tyrion Lannister. After her torture at the hand of Joffrey, she couldn’t bear to stay in King’s Landing. She begged me to save her, take her home. Of course, I couldn’t take her straight to Winterfell but I knew she’d be safe in the Vale.”

“You mentioned ‘irrational anger and jealousy’,” Lord Royce prompted.

“Yes and it was targeted at Sansa. The evening I returned, Lysa and I were wed. It was a happy but quiet affair.” He had to stop himself from throwing up as the memories of the event surfaced in his mind. “The morning after, Lysa was very short with Sansa, barely concealing her hatred. That afternoon, Sansa and I were talking about plans to get her back to Winterfell. Lysa saw us and convinced herself that Sansa was tempting me to be unfaithful. She called Sansa inside and attempted to throw her through the moondoor. I arrived just in time to save Sansa. My attempts to calm down my very distressed wife were in vain as she dove through the moondoor and committed suicide.”

“Her utter devotion to her son calls this into doubt,” Lady Waynwood said.

“You must remember, my lady, my wife was not in the right state of mind. Her focus had been solely on Sansa, hatred blinding her. She had barely paid attention to her son since Sansa had arrived,” Petyr explained.

“And do you have any evidence of Lysa’s loathing towards Sansa?” Lord Royce inquired.

“I found Sansa’s only dress, the one she was wearing when she arrived, torn and wine soaked. Servants attempted to repair it but it was ruined. I do not know when Lysa did this as I found the dress after Lysa jumped out of the moondoor.”

“We would like to speak with Lady Stark.”

“As you wish.”

A guard opened the door and there stood Sansa. She looked so fragile and small. Petyr had to commend Y/N’s realistic acting as she stepped gingerly into the room, the ruined dress in hand. She stood between them all, facing the Lords and Lady.

“Forgive my improper dress, the late Lady Arryn ruined my only dress,” she explained, gesturing to the clothes she had borrowed from Petyr.

“Could you not have worn some of Lady Arryn’s dresses?” Lady Waynwood asked, distaste on her face as she observed Sansa’s outfit.

“Those dresses will not fit - ill fitting bodices, my lady,” she replied.

“I see. May we have a look at the dress?”

She passed it over for examination. Lady Waynwood was more familiar with the delicate details of dresses and so she inspected the damage. “How exactly did she get a hold of your dress?”

“She must have snuck into my room while I was sleeping and whisked it away to destroy it. Lord Baelish was kind enough to lend me some clothes.”

The dress remained on Waynwood’s lap but her attention was back on Sansa. “Lady Arryn’s assumptions were unfounded?”

“Lord Baelish is nothing but an uncle to me,” Y/N replied. She felt her skin crawl as she forced the words out, amazed she didn’t vomit in the process.

The Lords and Lady took a moment to quietly converse but soon reached a verdict. 

“We have no reason to doubt your testimony, Lady Stark,” Lord Royce said. Unexpected relief washed over Y/N and she smiled politely at him.

“Your secret is safe with us, my lady,” Ser Corbray promised.

“And you are safe in the Vale,” Lady Waynwood added. 

“Thank you all,” Y/N sincerely said. Tears welled up in her eyes out of nowhere and she tried to blink them away but it was no use. They were rolling down her cheeks before she had time to register what was happening. Lady Waynwood was up out of her seat and embracing Sansa in a hug. 

“Shhh, shh,” Lady Waynwood soothed. “It’s not your fault, sweet girl. It’s not your fault.” Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice enough to speak. Petyr cast her a questioning look, worry glinting in his eyes.

 _I’m okay,_ she mouthed to him and his worry subsided. Her tears dried up and this was when Petyr decided to stand up.

“If I may take Sansa to her room, she’s clearly upset about discussing this issue,” he said. Rounds of ‘of course’ sounded from the Lords and Lady as Lady Waynwood stepped back to allow Petyr to escort Sansa. “I will speak to you once Sansa is settled,” he told them just before leading her out of the room. 

In the privacy of the corridor, they could speak and act freely. A hug was needed and so they embraced. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Y/N apologised.

He kissed her forehead to soothe her. “You did very well. Now, I must discuss further things, so can you find your way back to our room?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Remember I want training too.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he smiled. A short kiss was shared before Petyr turned back to join the Lords and Lady as Y/N began the long trek to her room. **_Our_** _room_ , she corrected with a smile.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N, Petyr, and Robin had left the Eyrie to continue training and touring the Vale. This chapter includes:
> 
> \- Sexual tension  
> \- Sexual revolution ;)  
> \- Fighting games/training  
> And  
> \- Angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this quite long chapter ^_^
> 
> And thanks for the hits and kudos!

“I’ve never left home before Uncle Petyr,” a nervous Robin confesses. The two of them were descending the stairs of the Eyrie, perhaps for the last time. 

“This will advance your training - Sansa’s too,” Petyr replies, trying to excite the boy with this.

“Mother said the Lord of the Vale belongs in the Eyrie,” Robin recounts, still nervous. “And she said it was dangerous out there.”

Lysa did like to make the boy worry as she filled his head up with stories of terror and death. Still, Petyr employed his silver tongue to ease the boy. “People die at their dinner tables, they die in their beds, they die squatting over their chamber pots.” They reached the bottom of the stairs and Petyr turned to face the boy. “Everybody dies - sooner or later. You don’t worry about your death,” he told Robin. He then stepped close, placing a hand on each of the boy's shoulder. “Worry about your life. Take charge of your life, for as long as it lasts. That is what it means to be Lord of the Vale.” 

Robin seemed to take these words on board, and appreciated his uncle’s wisdom. But approaching footsteps distracted Petyr and his gaze moved to the top of the stairs. Out stepped Y/N into view. She had changed into a new dress. It was a pretty thing; feathery in texture, black with red accents on the feathers near her neck, a tightness to the dress he appreciated, a plunging neckline that he appreciated more so. They locked eyes as she shot him a smirk, descending to join them at the bottom. She stood beside Robin, focusing on the boy and ignoring the hungry glances Petyr gives her. 

“So, Robin, are you ready to begin your training properly?” She asks with a smile.

“I think so,” he nods.

“Excellent.” She turns back to Petyr. “Are you ready to leave, Lord Baelish?”

 _Titles?_ He asked via an amused raised eyebrow. She smiled back in reply, waiting for his verbal answer. “Indeed I am, Lady Stark.”

“Shall we go, then?” She smirked. He nodded and the three of them made their way outside. “Make sure I have some _proper_ clothes packed,” she whispered to Petyr.

“You do. Though I do like the newest addition to your wardrobe,” he purred quietly, subtly looking at her enticing neckline. 

“You can admire it _closer_ later~” She seductively suggested before walking faster to catch up with Robin. Petyr gave a low chuckle at her teasing antics.

* * *

Lord Royce welcomed them to Runestone with warm hospitality (that was only genuine towards Sansa). They were each shown to their rooms - three separate rooms for three separate people. Y/N couldn’t help but notice Robin was placed in between Petyr’s and her room. Meaning, she would have to pass the boy’s room in order to get to Petyr’s. Since they had arrived at nightfall, they were encouraged to head to bed early. Robin, tired from the long journey, took this suggestion. He quietly bid Petyr and Sansa goodnight, wearily watching the strange guards and servants as he went to his room. This left the other two alone in Lord Royce’s dry company. He was going on about something so terribly boring that her mind couldn’t begin to comprehend it. 

“Lord Royce, I hate to interrupt, but do you have any books?” She asked, trying to keep a polite smile on her face. 

“Books?” The lord questioned.

“On anything really but topics that will help prepare myself for tomorrow’s training would be very much appreciated,” she clarified. 

“I suppose there are a few such things in the library-”

“Excellent. Could you wait here while I get changed?” She noticed a slightly disappointed shadow over Petyr’s expression but he soon masked that emotion. 

“Of course,” Lord Royce nodded. And so she left to go change, knowing neither man would enjoy the company of the other.

The library amounted to a few bookshelves but she was overjoyed at the sight and began to search for relevant books straight away.

“I shall be heading to bed now but there are two guards outside that will escort you back to your rooms when you retire for the night,” Lord Royce told them.

“Thank you, my lord,” Y/N said, momentarily distracted by her search.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he nodded. “Baelish,” he all but spat as he left the room, leaving the door ajar. Petyr shut the door, glaring at the wood so hard she feared it would burst into flames. She stood up to gently steer him to sit in a comfy chair and tried to relax him.

“When you’re king, no one will _dare_ forgo your title,” she told him.

He looked up at her with a smirk. “Glad you share my vision.”  
  


She came round the side of him, standing just in front of him and locking eyes. “Every time you face a decision, you close your eyes and see the same picture. Whenever you consider an action you ask yourself ‘will this action help to make this picture a reality?’ Pull it out of your mind and into the world.” His rapt attention was fixed upon her, his gaze so intense and exploding with emotion. “The picture of you; on the iron throne…” She trailed off, tilting her head ever so slightly to one side.

“...And you by my side,” he finished, titling his head a little also. In a flurry of passion, they met in a blazing kiss, hands clinging tightly to the other as they were pulled close. Their lungs were screaming for air and they all too soon had to pause the kiss to breathe. “I wish you had kept that dress on,” he said.

“I thought Lord Bore would stay with us longer,” she defended. “It felt pretty awkward being all dressed up with him around.”

“You’re right, no one else should get to see your body,” he growled possessively. She kissed him again, hoping to take the edge off but it only made his hunger grow. Despite lust clouding his mind, he made sure not to hurt her. She slipped a hand in his hair, ruffling it in order to mess it up. He nipped at her bottom lip as a light punishment for her action but he was able to see the funny side. He broke the kiss this time to whisper in her ear. “Please, my love, I need you _badly_.” And sure enough, she felt the tent in his trousers poke against her. 

“And if I said no?” She teasingly replied. He began to withdraw but she pulled him back. “Whoa, whoa! I was joking.”

“ _Don’t_ joke about that,” he said, turning suddenly serious. 

“I-”

“That is a boundary I will **not** cross.”

“How honourable of you,” she sarcastically put, a surprise jolt of real anger surfacing. They were quick to try and forget as a more bruising kiss started, their hands fumbling with clothes. Belts actually. They were both beyond ready so they skipped foreplay. Nimble hands sprung him free and idly teased his cock. He had more trouble and so they just had to abandon her trousers altogether. She broke the kiss once more. “Fuck me,” she breathlessly pleaded. 

Eyes blown wide with pure lust, he guided her quickly over to the wall. Her back hit the wall and he lifted her legs up so that their crotches were more aligned. She locked her legs around his hips, leaning back against the wall for support. Hands went to his shoulders for stability as his cock teased her entrance. He could only deny himself so long and buried himself to the hilt. Her moans were silenced when a hand was pressed over her mouth.

“Don’t scream too loud~” Petyr lowly growled, amusement in his voice. He then pistoned his hips, her eyes going wide as pleasure hit her. His pace was brutally fast and deep, rocking her body back and forth. She rested her head against the wall in order to save her the pain of smacking it over and over again. He removed his hand to dig into her hips, leaving her to stifle her moans and screams by herself. He was perfectly composed - audibly at least. His hair was a mess, his face slightly flushed, his teeth bared in an animalistic growl of lust. She also noticed that his mockingbird sigil had been knocked askew and made a mental note to not point it out. For now, she bit her bottom lip hard and dug into his shoulders as the pleasure rose. She tightened down on his cock, trying to draw louder sounds from him. Quiet hisses escaped him like steam but he was quick to take his revenge. A hand slipped in between her open legs and played with her clit. The added sensation made her orgasm all the closer and she was finding it harder and harder to keep quiet.

“Petyr~” She whined as quietly as she could. This spurred him on and he continued with his deliciously rough treatment. She clamped one hand over her own mouth as she silently screamed, body locking up as she orgasmed. She squeezed his dick in a vice like way, drawing a low moan from him as he climaxed inside her. The two remained in place, basking in the peaceful afterglow. A soft kiss was shared, the affectionate gesture contrasting with the fucking they had just finished. They hurriedly dressed, understanding anyone could walk through that door and see them like this. Petyr had an easier time and Y/N grumbled as she went behind a bookcase to put her trousers on. 

“Maybe we should actually look for books now?” Petyr cheekily remarked. 

“Hush you,” she shot back before sticking her tongue out. He rolled his eyes and helped her search.

* * *

The next morning, training began. Y/N’s excitement soothed Robin’s nerves and the pair were talked to by training mentors as Lord Royce and Petyr sat down on a wooden bench thing to watch. 

“This training exercise is all about getting into your opponent’s head,” the mentor told them. “You will have to play both offensively and defensively and use everything you can to your advantage.” He gestured for a pair of squires to step forward. Each held a round shield, large enough to cover their torsos, and a sword. Robin paled slightly at the sight of the sword. “Don’t worry, m’lord, these swords are entirely blunt. They also aren’t as heavy as real swords and they should be well balanced.” He gestured for them to try the swords out.

Y/N stepped up to the plate first, picking up the nearest sword. It was heavier than the sticks they had been using, an obvious observation, but she knew they weren't as heavy as the real thing. The balance was excellent as she found while vaguely twirling it in her hand and going through the stances quickly. Robin copied her, a little confused by what was meant by ‘balance’.

“Does your sword feel usable?” She asked, simplifying the technicalities.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Good.” She then picked up her shield and got used to the weight of it. It wasn’t heavy, quite light actually, but the positioning took some getting used to. She experimented with a few practice shield thrusts, following them up a few slashes. This was all directed at the open air for safety reasons.

“You seem to know your way around a sword and shield, m’lady,” the mentor commented.

“Just going with my gut feeling,” she replied with a small shrug.

“Then you have good instincts,” he complimented. 

“Thank you,” she said before turning back to Robin. He had picked up the shield and was going through the motions she had just done, finding it harder to coordinate. “Ready to practice?” 

“I think so,” he answered, putting on a brave face in front of his uncertainty. She smiled at him as they got into their starting stances. Due to the shield in their left hand, the stance had to be modified. They were still sideways on but their left leg was leading, shield out in front of them with the sword raised over it and pointed in a slightly downward trajectory. Due to the height difference, Robin’s sword was raised in a slightly upward trajectory. They were facing each other, listening to the mentor as they stared down at the other.

“Good stances,” he commented before explaining the rules of the exercise. “The aim is to hit your opponent's torso. Anything goes so long as you only use your sword or shield or a combination of both. A point is awarded to the person who hits the other’s torso. If you both hit at the same time, no points are rewarded. First to three points wins.” He then stepped back so that he was beside the Lords’ bench. “Ready… FIGHT!”

Y/N charged immediately, not wasting a second. This caught Robin off guard as he shield was bashed aside with her own and a slash was delivered to his torso. Well, it was more of a tap to his side but in actual combat it would have been a full on blow. They returned to their starting positions. Petyr shot her an amused look, liking her aggression.

“Very good, m’lady,” the mentor called. “M’lord, ready your guard.”

Robin’s grip tightened on his weapons as he nodded. She shot him an apologetic look before her expression turned playful. “C’mon Robin, fight back,” she challenged.

“Ready...FIGHT!”

Robin was the one who charged but she anticipated this and was quick to sidestep, slashing in his direction. He was able to twist and block with his shield, the two of them staying in that position for a moment. She grinned at him, sparking his determination. He used his shield to bat away her sword, advancing with his own thrust. An easy block yet she still backed up to encourage him to fight. Their swords met with loud **clangs** as they both swung, Y/N still willingly on the back-foot. Several more **clangs** were heard as they exchanged blows, she leading him so that he had to focus on his footwork as well as his sword-work. Tauntingly, she twisted so that her back was exposed. Robin landed a thrust before she could block with her shield and she gladly launched into dramatics.

“Oh! I’ve been wounded terribly! My life, so full of promise, has been cut short before my time. How I am fortune's fool!” She cried, overacting for her life. Robin laughed at her antics as she bowed to him and the audience. Their mentor concealed his amusement, Lord Royce laughed politely but was disapproving.

“You’d have a lovely career as a court jester,” Petyr joked, entertained by her dramatisation.

“I’d need to learn to juggle first,” she wittily returned.

“A point is awarded to Lord Arryn, bringing the score to one all,” the mentor announced, trying to get them back on track after spotting Lord Royce’s unamused expression. They returned to their stances. Y/N wasn’t about to give Robin any more easy points, she would actually try. “Ready...FIGHT!” She charged him again but he dodged, lashing out with a distracting swing that went too wide to worry about. She returned to a low thrust, trying to worry him into dropping his shield lower and expose a chink in the armour. He fell for it and she lunged, the tip of her sword grazing his shoulder. 

“Does that count?” Robin asked immediately. 

“Shoulders do, yes. Arms, hands, legs, feet, and heads don't,” the mentor replied. Robin grumbled about a ‘cheap shot’ as he returned to his stance. 

“2 - 1 to me,” she gloated, seeing the frustration rise in the young lord. _Good - a fired up warrior is what we want to see,_ she thought.

“Ready...FIGHT!”

With a roar, Robin slashed violently, aiming for her face. It was a worrying technique, one he no doubt copied from her. _At least he can mimic,_ she thought as she blocked the slash with her sword. She turned up the offensive moves to match his sudden violence, pressing forward her attacks. He reluctantly gave ground, making things harder for himself as she got closer. She landed a blow to the hilt of his sword and, in fear of the metal striking his hand, he loosened his grip. This combination sent the sword flying, landing some distance to the side of them, leaving him without his main weapon. She saw the worry rise in his eyes and pressed her advantage to test him. She quickly blocked his path to the sword and began striking his shield. The strategy was simple; scare him into dropping his guard and get the final point to win. Of course, she was holding back a little, just to see if he could fight back or use a strategy of his own. The round shield covered most of his shorter and thinner frame, meaning it was difficult to bait him into exposing his torso (especially since that trick had been used once before). Still, her blows to his shield were enough to unsettle him into retreating further and further away from his sword. She tried to work her sword around the shield and pry a gap big enough to jab his torso. 

“Ow,” he suddenly said, causing her to burst out laughing.

“Are you okay?” She asked, mid laugh.

“You hit me in the chest,” he told her. The shield was lowered and he was rubbing the injured spot. She lowered her own weapons, her right arm aching from the vicious attacks she had done.

“3 - 1 to Lady Stark. Lady Stark is the victor,” the mentor called. With a beam, Y/N took a bow to the clapping audience of two. Robin and the mentor also clapped. Despite losing, Robin wasn’t complaining or screaming in the way a spoiled lord would if they lost ( ***cough cough*** Joffrey ***cough cough*** ). Instead, he seemed quite happy for Y/N.

“Of course, I would like to thank Robin for being such a challenging opponent,” she praised, smiling at the young lord. Robin looked surprised by this but was happy to accept the compliment. A servant walked over to Petyr, handing him a small scroll. He read it and re-rolled it to slip inside his sleeve.

He stood up. “Come along Sansa,” he called.

“Coming uncle,” she chirped, handing her weapons to a squire before following Petyr. They passed the mentor on their way.

“You fought well, m’lady,” the mentor said.

“Thank you,” she smiled, adding just a hit of playfulness but it was enough to spark impatience from Petyr. She hurried along, following Petyr until they were somewhere private and out of sight and ear shot. “Well?” She asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“The Boltons rule the North. Roose’s recently legitimised bastard son, Ramesy, is a bachelor and-”

“You want me to marry that psycho?!” She hissed.

“To destroy them from within and take back the North, yes.”

“Do you have any idea what they will do to me?!”

“It is a purely political marriage - part of the plot to overthrow them and take back the North.”

“He will...He’ll…” She couldn’t get the words out despite needing to. 

“He’ll what?” Petyr prompted. 

“He’ll…” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she recalled what happened to Sansa on that wedding night.

“Enough with the drama,” Petyr snapped. 

“I’m not doing this to be dramatic!” She sobbed, the anger in her voice clashing with the tears in her eyes.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“You said you’d protect me.”

“And I _will_.”

“Giving me to that psycho will _hurt_ me. Not just in my soul or mind but in my _body_ . I will be _haunted_ by his actions till the day I **die**.”

“What will he do to you?”

The two of them stared at each other, Y/N trying to find the words as more tears were wept. Petyr was losing the last of his patience, on the cusp of doing something he would deeply regret. 

“He’ll...H-He’ll…” She stammered.

“Spit it out!” He snarled.

“He’ll **RAPE** me!” She screamed. The outburst shocked both of them; Y/N was shocked at how loud she was, Petyr shocked at the information itself. She then descended into more tears and crumbled in on herself. Petyr was quick to hug her, pulling her close as he tried to make amends. 

“Y/N, I didn’t know,” he softly said. She just cried, needing to release the tears before she could speak. He waited for her to calm down, his head resting atop hers as he rubbed her back in a soothing fashion. Eventually, her tears dried up and she stepped back to speak.

“No more tears,” she promised, speaking both to herself and him as she rubbed her eyes and used her sleeve to dry her damp cheeks. Once she was composed, she got down to business. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Petyr asked, interested in what future knowledge she had

“Jon Snow is Lord Commander at Castle Black. He’s viewed as the King in the North despite being a bastard. As the true Stark, Sansa would be welcomed alongside him and I’ve no doubt we can rally them behind the two of us. Plus, I’ve no doubt you can get the Vale’s support.”

“All very interesting,” he said, a faint smile on his face. “But your training is far from complete.”

“True. However, I’m sure you can make your way to Jon and convince him to team up with Sansa. This will give me time to train and build up a solid plan and resources.” 

“I’ll send a raven first, gauge how responsive Jon is to our plan before I put myself within sword stabbing distance.”

She laughed at this, the two of them skirting closer. “A very good point.”

“I would like to oversee more of your training while I’m here.”

“You're welcome to watch and _enjoy~”_ She eyed his crotch. “I know you enjoyed in more ways than one.”

He smirked at this. “What can I say? _Passion_ is a very attractive quality.” They met in a kiss, both agreeing with this sentiment. “We can’t continue here, my love,” he warned, quickly looking around. 

“I know,” she sighed. “Still, once we meet up with the other Starks, we can be a bit more _open_ , hmm?”

“We shall see how they react.”

“Best not get ahead of ourselves,” she nodded.

“Now, we must get back before rumours start up.”

“Oh, I dunno. I just wanna hear the gossip others would make up,” she laughed. He joined in, leading her back to the others. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses and angst. What more could you want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self isolation is fun, eh? Schools have closed in England so whoop whoop!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter - It was late coming but ah well.

Training continued to go well, Y/N’s combat skills improved. Robin’s...didn’t at the same pace. She could see the false smiles of encouragement and the rolling eyes when Robin looked away. The urge to call this bullshit out was strong but Petyr was able to hold her back, employing his own silver tongue to deal with the situation while urging Y/N to deal with Robin and keep the boy focused.

Today, they were practising archery. Robin took aim and Y/N could immediately see that he wasn’t pulling it back far enough as his arms weren’t straining as he took ages to line up the shot. Still, she stayed quiet and let him shoot. As predicted, the arrow landed in the grass just in front of the target. Lord Royce shared a false smile with Robin, rolling his eyes the second the young lord looked away. Blood boiling, Y/N just had to say something.

“Here,” she said, stepping behind Robin. “You aren’t pulling back far enough. This means you aren’t using enough power to get the arrow in the target.” She guided his arms, the left one holding the bow while his right drew the arrow back. She lined up the bow, holding his arm to keep him steady. “You need to draw quite far back, almost to your cheek,” she told him, using her hand to guide his right arm back.

“Ow,” he quietly said, feeling the strain.

“You’re building muscle and have power to shoot the bow,” she explained. 

“Can I shoot now?” He asked, grip tightening on the bow.

“Are you lined up?” 

“Uh…” He closed an eye to check. “...yes.”

“Are you sure?” She questioned, holding back a laugh. 

“Uh huh,” he nodded, seeming pretty sure.

“Alright then. Fire!” She ordered. He shot the bow, everyone watching closely as it flew through the air. It embedded into the bottom of the blue ring and Y/N whooped the moment it landed. “Robin! You hit the target!” She cheered in celebration, shaking the boy a little. 

“Yeah, I did,” he beamed, surprised it had been that easy. 

“Well done, my lord,” Lord Royce congratulated as he clapped the accomplishment. She was too busy focusing on Robin to be petty towards the boorish lord but she did give him a smile that had a hint of smugness. Lord Royce just smiled politely back, the corners of his mouth tightening. 

“Uncle Petyr! I hit the target!” Robin called out as Petyr approached. Petyr followed Robin’s pointing gesture, seeing the arrow embedded in the target.

“So I see,” he replied before smiling at the boy. “Very well done.” Robin’s beam widened and Y/N playfully ruffled the lad’s hair before her attention was caught by Petyr. “Sansa, a word?”

“Coming, uncle,” she chirped and joined his side as they strolled away at a casual pace. “Keep practising,” she called to Robin over her shoulder. The boy nodded and drew another arrow from his quiver, lining up his third shot.

Petyr handed her a small scroll from his sleeve. “A message from Jon.”

“He’s already replied?” She asked, taking the scroll to read it.

“He wants proof that you’re alive and well,” he informed her. 

And indeed, the message confirmed this. “So I write a message back, no big deal,” she answers. 

“I’ve no doubt he’ll want to see you in person.”

“I have my training to complete - I can’t even ride a horse!” She hissed, looking around to check no one was within ear shot.

“A convenient excuse,” Petyr replied. He was guessing, quite logically, what Jon would think about all of this.

She sighed in frustration. “We’ll have to believe me - until we go north to see him in person.”

“You’ll have to write that message explaining your situation,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I know. And I will,” she promised. Robin shot another arrow, hitting the black ring this time. “Aim higher!” She called, seeing him nod as he re-loaded his bow. 

“Has he only just shot again?” Petyr inquired.

She glanced at the target, counting only three arrows (two actually in the target, one stuck in the grass). “Must have been distracted,” she mused. Petyr seemed unconvinced but dropped the subject. She turned back to him for guidance. “I should obviously focus on horse riding, but should I focus on archery or sword fighting more?”

“Sword fighting is not for everyone,” he quietly said, his hands fidgeting ever so slightly.

Her expression softened. “I see. Well, I quite like archery anyway. Who knows - maybe I can combine archery with horse riding?” 

“Let’s see if your coordination is up to it,” he smiled.

Some weeks later, horses were brought to Runestone. There were five in total, a decent selection of young and well tempered stallions and mares. Lord Royce led Robin and Y/N over to the horses. Petyr was accompanying them (as he was currently waiting for a reply from Jon). Each horse was held by a handler, a group of good looking guys and girls barely older than Sansa. Y/N’s eye was cast over the boys, merely looking, but she knew it would wind Petyr up and so she lingered on a particularly handsome gentleman.

“Now, my lord and my lady,” Lord Royce began, catching their attention, “in order to get you started with horse riding, it is important that you have a reliable horse. Lady Stark I understand you have ridden before-”

“I have but I’m very rusty,” she lied. “And these are horses that are new to me.”

“Of course,” he nodded in acknowledgement before continuing. “My lady, since you have been around horses more, perhaps you should pick first.” 

Reluctantly, Y/N stepped forward. In truth, she had never ridden a horse before nor really been around them much - even during her stay in Westeros. Gingerly, she approached the horse who’s handler was the most handsome. 

“And who is this?” She asked, gesturing to the horse.

“This is a stallion. Bay in colour, with a white star and four white socks,” the handler replied, pointing out the various markings. “He is a fine horse, easy in temperament and very obedient - a great thing for riders who are rusty.” He smiled at Sansa, politely to everyone else but she recognised the glint in his eyes. 

“I see,” she said, smiling in return. “May I?” She gestured to the saddle, indicating she wanted a test ride. The handler looked back at Lord Royce who nodded. With some help, Y/N was in the saddle. The reins were in the hands of the handler and so she gripped the front of the saddle tightly. 

“Walk on,” the handler instructed and the horse set off at a gentle and slow pace. Y/N swayed a little in the saddle, not used to the rhythm of a moving horse. She would hate to do this side saddle - it was bad enough wearing a dress. Lord Royce had insisted upon it even though Petyr and Y/N had tried to persuade him otherwise. She managed to keep good posture and started to enjoy the ride. They were only riding a little bit away from the others but when they came to a stop and Y/N dismounted, she was sure this was her horse. The stallion looked at her, his big brown eyes seeming to stare straight into her soul. She gave his muzzle a gentle pat before turning back to the awaiting lords.

“Well?” Petyr asked, probably able to guess what she was about to say.

“I’ve found my horse,” she beamed. A polite round of claps came from them, Robin and Petyr both very happy for her. “Right then Robin, your turn.”

“Y-yes,” the boy nodded before stepping forward. His eye was naturally caught by the prettiest horse there - aside the one she had picked out - the gold champagne one. It looked like a living gold statue, it’s beautiful coat catching the rays of sunlight and seeming to sparkle. 

Y/N stepped beside Robin. “Is that your horse?” She whispered.

“If I can ride it,” he whispered back nervously. With a gentle nudge, Robin approached the golden horse’s handler. “Is it a boy or a girl?” He asked, unsure of what to say.

“He’s a stallion,” the handler replied.

“Can I have a ride?”

“Of course,” the handler said. Robin was helped up into the saddle and held on for dear life.

“He certainly is a pretty horse,” Y/N commented to Petyr.

“He’s not the only thing being stared at,” Petyr scoffed, glaring at the handsome handler.

“Your jealousy is showing,” she teased, trying to diffuse the situation. _You were the one who tried to marry me off,_ she bitterly thought but bit her tongue at the last moment. They dropped the subject and looked back to Robin. He had eased into the saddle now, one hand gently stroking the golden mane. Before long, he dismounted but seemed incapable of separating with his chosen horse. 

“My lord, have you chosen your horse?” Lord Royce asked. Robin nodded, still gazing at the golden beauty. “Along with you both to archery. Baelish, accompany them,” Royce instructed before heading over to speak with the handlers. Petyr’s narrowed eyes burned into the back of Royce’s head but Y/N elbowed him to get his attention. He recovered his graces and led them over to the archery area. 

Lord Royce purchased the horses and had the stable hands put the horses away. Robin and Y/N were both itching to get started and were thrilled when they were taken down to the stables some days later. They were each overjoyed to see their horses, especially now they were both tacked up and ready to ride. The horses were brought out by the stable hands, the riding mentor was there to instruct them. Both learners felt unease at Petyr’s absence but Y/N knew he had more important things to do than watch them ride horses.

“Mount your horses,” the mentor instructed. A mounting block was brought out for Robin and he was soon in the saddle. 

“Sorry, can I use the block too?” Y/N inquired. A stable hand brought the block round for her and she was atop her horse with relative ease.

“Grip your reins,” came the next instruction. The pair struggled slightly but managed to get a good grip in the reins. “Now, to get your horse to move, gently squeeze the horse's sides with your legs.” Y/N understood what this meant and so was able to get her horse moving. Granted, it felt as if a slight lean forward would get the horse moving. Robin had a little more trouble getting his horse to move but they were both walking before long. “Very good. Now, follow me,” he instructed, getting atop his own horse to lead them. His pace was slow and Y/N’s horse had no issue keeping up as it seemed to follow of his own accord. Robin’s horse had steering issues so he trailed behind a little. 

They began to ride across the flat, open grassland. Y/N was getting used to the rhythm, allowing her body to rock in time with her horse’s movements. 

“You need a name,” she told the bay stallion beneath her. 

“Do you name horses?” Robin asked, confused by this etiquette.

“I feel like he needs a name. Besides, I’m sick of referring to him as ‘my horse’,” she joked. Robin laughed at this but liked the idea.

“What should my horse be called?”

She thought for a moment, thinking of clever gold themed names. Then the perfect one came to her. “Midas,” she smirked.

“Who?” 

Ah, right. Midas and other Greek mythological characters didn’t exist in Westeros. Still, it was too good a name to discount. “Midas, a king who was cursed to turn everything he touched to gold, is part of a minor myth.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“Well, it’s a myth lost to time and most people don’t know about it.”

“So how do you know?” 

“I’m very well read.”

“Okay then,” he nodded, slightly confused still. “So, what are you going to name your horse?”

She looked down at the bay stallion, one hand idly playing with his mane. She thought of all the characters in mythology. Norse and Egyptian names were ruled out - most too hard to pronounce and spell. Greek ones were a good go to; 

_Apollo was a bit overdone._

_Zeus is too disgusting in myth to name a horse after._

_Hermes was a good name but still not quite right._

_Poseidon, and Hades, were too grand to name a horse after._

No, no - gods wouldn’t do. She had to think smaller…

_Icarus_...Yes, the perfect name.

“Icarus,” she finally said, smiling.

“Who?”

“Another myth long forgotten. Icarus’s father build wings of feather and wax, the two of them using them to escape prison-”

Robin’s face was a little pale. “They were criminals?” 

“Falsely imprisoned,” she reassured. “While flying, Icarus was warned not to fly too close to the sea, for it could clog up the wings, not too close to the sun, for it could melt the wax. Icarus didn’t listen to his father and so he flew high, oh so very high. The wax melted, causing the wings to fall apart. He crashed into the sea and drowned.”

Robin looked fascinated and yet his face paled slightly. The talk of death, even imaginary, seemed to be a topic he didn’t like. She could hardly blame the boy. Horses named, and mentor getting a little annoyed, they returned their focus to the task at hand.

* * *

They were riding day in and day out, both getting a little sore from spending a lot of time in the saddle. Petyr, when he wasn’t busy writing letters, teased her about it and offered to help her with the soreness. An offer she’d take up if it weren’t for the fact they had to be on the down low with their affections. And with Lord Royce about, they’d have to be extra careful. 

For the moment, they had found some privacy in Petyr’s room. He sat at the desk, a small wooden thing of low grandeur, penning his latest message to Jon. Y/N laid on the bed, reading a book entitled ‘The Lady and the Bow; the guide to archery for women’. A very rare find according to Petyr. She was currently enjoying a chapter on archery and horseback when a question popped into her head.

“Petyr?” She asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

“Hmm?” He hummed, continuing to write the message.

“Is it possible to ride a horse without using the reins?” She inquired.

“A very interesting question,” he commented, coming to the end of his sentence before putting the quill in the inkwell. He sat back in his chair, head turned to her direction. “I have heard of bowmen being able to hold the reins in one hand while shooting a bow. But going reinless is something I haven’t come across.”

“Sounds like I’m about to invent a new technique,” she smirked. 

“What’s this I hear about horse names? Icarus and Midas?” He questioned with a slight smirk.

“Names from my reality - Greek myths, actually,” she told him.

An eyebrow was quirked. “Getting bolder with your hints, are we?” 

“Oh, you know it~” She flirted. He chuckled at this but picked up the quill. “Oh, c’mon. I’m dying for some action over here,” she said, wiggling her ass in an inviting way. His gaze was drawn to her ass and a smirk crept its way onto his lips. 

“I have work to do,” he coyly said, putting the quill to parchment once more.

She put a slice of paper in the book, acting as a makeshift bookmark, before placing it on the bedside table. She slipped off the bed and made her way to him, draping herself around his shoulders. 

“You’re going to make me smudge,” he drily said but that smirk showed off his true mood. A hand ran through his hair in a stroking fashion, her other hand travelling down his torso. “And if someone bursts in?” He tested.

“You’re telling me you _haven’t_ locked the door?” She teasingly shot back. 

He turned his head to look at her. “You know me too well,” he told her before kissing her. Quill and half finished message forgotten, the two lovers made their way over to his bed. It was a four poster with semi transparent curtains. These curtains were drawn for a more intimate feeling as they stripped each other. Clothes flew from a parting in the curtains and landed on the floor, their owners not caring where they ended up. He ended up on top of her, pinning her down but in a more passive way. Both of them were completely naked, their kiss now paused as they stared at the other. A finger traced over his scar, making him shiver. Uncharacteristic uncertainty crossed his face.

“Even though the scar doesn’t come from a nice event, I like it all the same,” she soothed. He still seemed uncertain. “Here, let me prove it,” she offered. Their roles were reversed, he was now on his back and she knelt between his legs. He was propped up, supported by his arms as his gaze intently watched her.

She started with a peck on the cheek, smiling gently at him to try and calm his nerves. Her kisses were pressed to his jawline, then his neck. Light bites created small hickeys on his neck and collarbone, drawing out soft moans from him. She reached the top of his scar and planted a gentle kiss. One kiss after another, she travelled further down his torso. Despite how gentle she was being, he couldn’t help but feel the sword slash through him again. He tried to bear it, mind over matter and all that, but he had to push her away before the replaying memory could drive him mad. She sat back and looked at him, startled by what she saw. 

He had the look of a cornered animal; so vulnerable and about to strike to show he wasn’t scared.

He scrambled off the bed and she followed.

“Petyr, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she apologised, starting to gather up her clothes.

He slipped his undershirt on, his back to her as he spoke. “You know how I got my scar.”

She had found her under clothes and put them on. “Yes-”

“So you know why I don’t like people touching it.”

Next came her trousers. “Petyr-”

“Leave,” he ordered. His body went rigid, his tone quiet but he was right on the edge.

Still, she pressed her luck. “Petyr-”

He snapped round to face her. “LEAVE!” He thundered, expression full of unleashed fury. She jumped at his reaction, sure the room shook a little. She slipped on her top and buckled her belt, glaring at him as she did so.

“Fine!” She yelled, amping up the volume to match his and cover her shaking voice. She gathered the book and marched to the door. The unbudging doorknob reminded her it was locked. She rounded on Petyr. “Open the fucking door then!” She snarled, playing up her anger. He threw the key at her and she unlocked the door. She chucked it back at him, hoping it ended up going missing, and then she slammed the door as hard as she could as she left. She stormed to her room, taking refuge in the privacy.

A few more days had passed, an icy wall being constructed between Petyr and Y/N. Petyr’s frost was more stone cold - passively cold but the uncaring angle made it all the colder. Y/N’s frost was more blizzard - the howling winds and snow sought to hurt, really cut deep. Lord Royce was the first to notice Y/N’s more obvious bitterness towards Lord Baelish and sought her out for a private chat.

“Sansa, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I’ve noticed a...coldness directed at Baelish,” he began. They were outside, talking a little stroll as they talked. “I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it, the grubby man, but this is unusual for you. Especially as your coldness is quite open.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course Royce would want to ally with her for a two pronged attack against Lord Baelish. Still, perhaps venting in a vague manner will help her. “Lord Baelish and I...had a disagreement.”

“So I heard,” he nodded, casting her an interesting look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“We’re usually quite civil - even when we disagree. But that time, I guess he was much more...wounded than I anticipated.” She was trying to choose her words carefully but she already knew she’d messed up when she saw dark intrigue cross Royce’s face.

“Wounded, you say?” He questioned, prompting her to reveal all.

“I’m going to be late for my riding lesson,” she blurted. “Do excuse me, my lord.” She bowed her head in an effort to show some manners before rushing off to the stables.

She sat atop Icarus, trying to figure out a way to steer him using only her legs. He was quite an easy horse to manoeuvre, too easy sometimes. She held the reins loosely but gripped the front of the saddle for stability as she got her legs into place. She squeezed his sides and he walked on. She wanted to turn right and so dug her right leg into his side gently. He turned right without a second thought. For experimental purposes, she dug her left leg in and sure enough he turned left. She shifted around in the saddle, lifting her legs up higher and dug in her heels to see if he would stop. To her great surprise, he lashed out with a buck. Her face went a little pale but she calmed down when she realised he wasn’t trying to buck her off. Cogs turned in her mind and she thought of the usefulness of this in combat. 

“Buck,” she commanded, digging her heels in at the same spot. He did indeed buck and was rewarded with a treat - apple slices. Icarus happily chowed down the slice and she repeated the command, rewarding him each time. Soon enough, he was able to buck on command. “What a good boy, Icarus,” she praised, petting him. He shook his head and snorted, ears twitching. He accepted another apple slice though. She wondered if he would stomp his front hooves and so began to touch his shoulders, seeing if there was a particular spot that would make him more agitated. She found none and so just placed a hand on his shoulder and commanded him to stomp. Icarus didn’t pay her any attention and just began to wander off, not minding she was along for the ride. _This could be useful,_ she thought and made sure he would follow her leg turns. He did without a second thought and Y/N was happy with the progress.

That evening, Y/N was in her room, reading the book by candlelight. Pillows were propped up behind her, the sheets bundled up around her. Her legs were up, her book resting against them as she read. She wished for some music - mp3s have been sorely missed during her stay in Westeros. Still, the peace and quiet was nice.

Until a knock at the door disturbed her.

She scowled in annoyance, glaring at the door. “Who’s there?” She called out.

“Lord Baelish,” came the reply, causing her scowl to deepen.

“And what do you want?” She asked the closed door. Petyr took it upon himself to enter the room, closing the door behind him. “I’m surprised you didn’t send a servant along or maybe have a spy of yours slip a note under my door. Not your style to see someone in person,” she remarked, returning to her book.

He frowned at this. “I was going to inform you that I am travelling north soon but if you’d rather find out by proxy, I will take my leave.” He turned and gripped the doorknob, ready to leave.

“Wait!” She called. He turned to look at her, eyebrow raised expectantly. She slipped in the bookmark before placing the book aside. She got out of bed to stand before him. “I..I’m sorry for pushing your boundaries.”

He stepped over to her, closing the distance between them. One hand gently cupped her face, eyes locking but their gazes soft. “I forgive you,” he whispered. She nodded and lowered her gaze but he wasn’t quite finished. “And I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

“You were upset-” She excused.

“True but that doesn’t give me a pass to make you upset,” he countered. 

She smiled at this, meeting his gaze again. “Alright. Let’s put that behind us. So, you’re heading north? Without me?”

“Your training isn’t quite battle ready.”

“Yeah, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“That’s not good enough. I can’t afford to have you injured or killed in battle. You’re too valuable.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and planted a kiss on her forehead. His way of speaking was so full of affection it was practically brimming over. 

_He just wants your future knowledge,_ a voice whispered.

  
_And the vessel,_ another voice added.

These doubts, while logically sound given what kind of man she was dealing with, threatened to tear her in two. So, to block out these treacherous thoughts, she brought him in for a kiss. He reciprocated eagerly, guiding her over to the bed.

“Let’s pick up where we left off~” He purred.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N rides north to partake in the Battle of the Bastards. How will she cope in her first battle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank you all for the love you have shown my story. Hits are lovely, kudos are wonderful, and comments are something I hold dear to my heart. Actually hearing your thoughts on particular chapters or parts is so unbelievably heart warming - especially given what's going on in the world.
> 
> So, enjoy, and remember to keep calm and safe.
> 
> [Oh, and Jon might be out of character as I'm not sure how to write him - so, sorry if he is]

Icarus’s hooves thundered across the grass as he cantered parallel to a series of targets. Y/N sat atop him, bow in hand and arrow drawn back. She lined up her shot before releasing it. The arrow flew through the air, thunking into the first target. She reloaded and let loose the second arrow. It found its mark as did the other four arrows that were all fired in quick succession of each other. Six arrows pierced six targets and Y/N’s arms were aching by the end of it. 

“Whoa, whoa,” she said, bringing Icarus to a halt. Icarus slowed to a walk before stopping. “Good boy.” Robin, who had been watching, hurried over to her. “So, how did I do?” She asked him.

“All but one were bullseyes,” Robin grinned.

She looked triumphant but worry still lingered. The one that wasn’t a bullseye - that could cost her sorely if that happened in combat. Especially if a target was gunning for her. She shivered at the possibility but snapped back to the present. She returned Robin’s smile. “Fetch me the arrows and I’ll try again. Let’s see if I can get all six bullseyes!” She turned Icarus around and trotted back to the starting point. Robin pulled the arrows out of the targets, discarding the ones that were damaged. He returned three arrows to her, before hurrying back to his position. She placed two of the arrows in her quiver and loaded the third in her bow. She set off at a canter, drawing back to fire.

Lord Royce, Lord Robin, and Lady Sansa all sat at the table. They were having their dinner in relative silence. Y/N was on edge. She was expecting word from Petyr any day now. He had been in the north for nearly a month now. He sent her a message about a week after he had set off, telling her he had arrived safe. He alluded to battle plans but didn’t include details. Wise choice - who knows how many spies had gotten their hands on the message? 

“M’lady?” A servant asked, approaching the table.

Y/N jumped up, causing her chair to scrape across the floor as it was pushed back slightly. She looked at the servant, trying to hide her nerves and excitement. “Yes?” She asked, as neutrally as she could.

“A message for you,” the servant told her. He handed her a scroll before bowing and leaving. She sat back down, the Lords’ eyes upon her now. She recognised the wax sigil right away - a mockingbird. A smile crept onto her face and she broke the seal. Unfurling the scroll, she read the message;

_My Lady,_

_The wind does howl, as so do your pack. Take the eagle and march skyward, be careful not to melt your wings. Home shall be ours but make sure a crossbow bolt doesn’t strike you down._

_Yours,_

_Lord Baelish_

Simply put: Gather the Vale army and march north to defeat the Boltons. She wasn’t aware he was quite so poetic but it makes sense he would be able to talk in code. Excitement bubbled inside of her and she couldn’t help but grin. The Lords looked at her expectantly.

“Lord Baelish wishes for the Vale army to be gathered and for me to march north to reclaim my home,” she explained.

“You’re going to fight?” Robin asked, paling. 

“I have to. You would fight if your home was in trouble, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Robin nodded.

“Well, there you have it,” she said.

“My lady,” Lord Royce cut in, “we do have a few gifts for you.”

“Gifts?” She questioned. Now was hardly the time for a nice new dress and a fancy bow.

“Battle preparations, I assure you,” he chuckled, knowing how ruthlessly practical she can be. 

“Lead the way, my lord,” she invited as she stood up. Lord Royce did just that, leading her out of the dinning hall and into the armoury. 

There, on a mannequin of some sort, was a set of armour. It was plate armour more silvery in colour than typical armour sets. She could tell it had been highly polished and was no doubt very high quality. Beside the armour was a sword and scabbard along with a bow and arrow filled quiver. All of these items were also high quality and seemed to have a loving aura. 

She stepped forward to check out the armour - _her_ armour. As well as the weapons - _her_ weapons. 

“Thank you, my lord,” she beamed, turning to look at the lord. 

“You’re welcome,” Lord Royce sincerely said. She hugged him in thanks before he returned her attention back to the armour. “You must try it on - make sure everything fits.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

Several servants were on hand to help her as well as the head weaponsmith. He was directing the servants as well as checking in with the young lady. The armour fit perfectly and was about as comfortable as it can be. She went through the stances with her sword, doing some practice swings and blocks. Amazing mobility and the sword was perfectly balanced - an extension of herself. She then picked up the bow and drew an arrow back, feeling how fluid and natural it felt. She was quick to put the arrow away before she accidentally shot it before turning to face the others. 

Standing up straight, a look of steely determination on her face as she sheathed the sword at her side. She looked every bit the warrior she had trained to be and now was the time to take charge. “Are the men ready?” She asked Lord Royce.

“They are, my lady,” he answered. 

“Good. We ride as soon as we can. Now, ready my horse,” she commanded.

Icarus was all tacked up when she arrived at the stables. She was quick to mount the trusty steed, excitement and nerves bubbling up inside her. She ruffled his soft mane, fearing he may be killed in battle if she wasn’t careful. Still, they had to head north first. They rode over to the amassed army and met up with the knights.

“We are ready to set off, m’lady,” a knight informed her.

“Perfect. We ride now,” she commanded and set off at a quick trot. Both speed and stamina were important as they had far to travel.

* * *

Many days were spent travelling, the nights spent resting in makeshift camps. She would always set time aside in the evening to make sure Icarus remembered her commands. He always did and was always fed whatever treats she could spare. Y/N, meanwhile, ate whatever she could. It was mostly bread and soup - a hearty soup full of a little bit of everything but still not particularly tasty. And the bread was soon going stale. Still, she didn’t complain and none of the knights did either.

Finally, after a long and tiring journey, they arrived at Jon’s encampment. Some of Jon’s men saw their arrival and dashed off to tell their superiors. The knights were dismounting their horses and were being directed to the stables. Y/N remained on Icarus, looking around for any familiar faces. Soon enough, Jon came running across to her.

“Sansa!” He called.

“Jon!” She beamed, dismounting Icarus just as Jon crashed into her with a tight embrace. At least, it would have been if she wasn’t wearing armour. The siblings embraced, Jon seemingly in disbelief Sansa was actually here again but overjoyed nonetheless. 

“My little sister is a warrior,” he smiled, commenting on the armour. 

“A gift from Lord Royce of Runestone as well as the Vale’s army,” she told him, sweeping her arm to the knights she had brought along. 

Jon spotted the sky blue banners and seemed relieved. “That certainly makes up the numbers.”

“Indeed it does, my lord,” said a voice from behind them. The Stark siblings turned and saw Lord Baelish. He was smiling at the pair of them but his eyes were on Sansa.

“Lord Baelish,” Y/N warmly greeted. 

“Shall we head inside?” Petyr suggested. “We have much to discuss.”

The next few hours was spent pouring over maps and arguing about battle tactics. It was a lot of angst and shouting that Y/N couldn’t stand. And so, when she was fed up, she slammed her fist down on the table. The sudden sound cut through the chaos and all eyes were drawn to her.

“Thank you,” she said once they were quiet. “The plan is simple; Bolton won’t go for any sort of compromise so we shall have to face him in straight combat. He won’t go for any sort of compromise and even if he does offer something, we can’t trust him.”

“He has Rickon,” Jon countered.

Y/N’s face was clouded by sadness. “Yes, he does. And he would kill our brother to spark us into hasty action. There’s a strong possibility we cannot save him.”

Jon jumped up, bumping the table and causing the chair to scrape back sharply. “And how do you know this, Sansa?” He questioned, fury etched in his expression.

“We all know what Ramsay is like,” Sansa said, voice steady and eyes narrowed. Jon shoved himself heavily into his seat, gaze boring into the table as Sansa addressed everyone else. “Now, as I was saying, Bolton will insist on fighting us head on. He’s better equipped and believes he has the upper hands in numbers.”

“So, we mix both the armies?” Someone suggested.

“Not quite.” She then laid out the map of the battle ground. She picked up the red pieces that represent Ramsay and his army, moving them to a rough formation on the hill. “Bolton will station himself on the high ground.” She picked up the grey pieces that represented Jon and his army, moving them to just in front of the tree line on the lower hill. “Jon and his men will be stationed here, to avoid a flanking attack.”

“And the Vale army?” Another one asked.

She picked up the last set of pieces - blue ones that represented Sansa and the Vale army - and placed them in the trees, a little bit behind the grey pieces. “We shall be the secret second wave.”

“You will let good men die needlessly?” Jon spat, his gaze turning to Sansa.

Her own gaze narrowed, expression hardening. “That is what happens in battle. And I will also put my life on the line. Live or die, victory or defeat, I will fight alongside my army.” Arguments seemed to have been silenced so she turned her attention back to the map. “Jon and Bolton will hash it out, most likely leading to his forces surrounding Jon’s in a shield phalanx.” She moved the pieces into place to demonstrate this. The red pieces were now encircling the grey pieces in the centre of the hill. “This is the cue for my forces to charge in. Our mounted charge will easily break the circle and together the Bolton men will fall.” She brought the blue pieces forward and used a sweeping hand to scatter the red pieces, some of them clattering to the floor. 

“And after?” Another person asks.

“I’m not too sure,” she lied. “Perhaps Bolton will turn tail and we’ll have to give chase.” 

“Let’s just focus on getting to that point,” Jon said cooly. Everyone seemed to be in agreement with the plans and so they left.

As Y/N was leaving, she exchanged a look with Petyr. He had been leaning against the wall this entire time, silently observing. As she passed, he gave her an approving nod accompanying it with a faint smile.

* * *

The next day, the armies gathered. Ramsay higher up the hill as predicted, Jon just in front of the tree line. Y/N had the Vale knights gathered in the forest earlier that day, acting as scouts as well as for extra stealth. Y/N was atop Icarus, of course, and had stationed herself up the front and nearer the tree line. Petyr, mounted atop his own horse, was beside her. The pair peered out between the trees and looked out across the battleground. This was the first time she would ever do anything so violent - both in her time as Sansa and in her own reality. She couldn’t afford to freeze and she most definitely couldn’t desert. Her grip tightened and loosened on her bow as her stomach began to twist into knots.

“What is the outcome of this battle?” Petyr asked in a whisper.

“The Starks win,” she replied quietly.

“Then you have nothing to fear.”

“Easy for you to say - you’re not fighting.”

“But someone I hold dear is.”

Her head snapped to look at him as he gazed sombrely at her. She had no time to get any words out as her attention was caught back to the battlefield. Jon was riding out to save Rickon.

 _Run. Run!_ Her mind screamed but she knew what the outcome was. She shut her eyes just before the arrow pierced Rickton, killing him. She opened her eyes a few seconds later, seeing Jon stood alone on the battlefield. Things were still for a moment before grief and anger stuck Jon and he charged forward. The majority of his army followed him, only a few archers left behind under the command of Davos. A hail of arrows are launched by the enemy, more arrows being loaded and shot as the army charges nearer. No doubt, Jon’s horse was shot out from under him and he prepares for a final stand against the charging cavalry. His own cavalry arrives, and the real chaos ensues.

Though she can’t see much from her vantage point, the scene replays over in her mind. All of his near misses, along with the blood and metal clangs as swords clash, flash through her mind. Davos orders the archers to stand down so as to avoid shooting their own men but Ramsey has no such qualms as he orders another hail of arrows. Before long, Davos dismounts his horse and leads the remains of Jon’s army into battle. The time for her own charge was creeping closer and, despite the biting cold, she was pickling with a nervous heat. Her face paled and her mouth dried, a lump in her throat appearing. She couldn’t seem to get a comfortable grip on her bow and was fidgeting in her saddle. 

“Victory is assured, so long as you keep your nerve,” Petyr told her, leaning over to her.

She nodded, gritting her teeth as she concentrated. Jon’s men were really falling now, the ground becoming littered with dead bodies. It was then that Ramsay sent in the rest of his forces. The men, led by Smalljon Umber, force Jon and his men into a clump before surrounding them so they can’t run.

She waited until the encirclement was completed before giving the signal. Their war horn was sounded and, before she could say her goodbyes to Petyr, they were charging. She was right there alongside them, Icarus galloping off before she could register what was happening. Training kicked in and she drew back her arrow, firing it straight into a man's back. A few more arrows were fired before Icarus crashed into the men, breaking the line as they were trampled under his hooves. The bow was slipped onto her shoulder and her sword was in her hand, slashing at the enemy as the other knights were doing. Icarus followed the other horses, keeping formation as they worked to break the shield phalanx. More men were trampled or cut down, the men in the middle helping form a two sided attack. 

Y/N looked up just as Ramsey turned tail and ran. Anger burst inside of her, courage surging through her. She steered Icarus hard right before galloping after the commanding coward, breaking away from everyone else. They closed in on the fleeing Bolton as he rode towards Winterfell. He reached Winterfell first, the gates slamming close before she could follow.

Icarus turned quickly to avoid colliding with the gates, Y/N making her horse slow to a stop. Both of them were breathing hard, Icarus panting and huffing.

She glared at the gates before glancing back down to the battle. All of Ramsay’s men were dead and Jon, the giant (Wun Wun), along with Tormund all came rushing over. Jon’s remaining men and the Vale knights soon joined them.

“Ramsey’s attempting a siege!” She called to Jon, still trying to catch her breath.

“Wun Wun! Break down the door!” He ordered. The arrow filled giant did as he was commanded and the gate was smashed off its hinges, Jon following the charge with Y/N right behind him.

The rest of their army poured in, quickly splitting off to kill what remained of Ramsay’s men. Y/N lended a hand by firing arrows, helping to at least subdue if not kill their enemies.

Wun Wun fell to his knees as arrows, bolts, and javelins pierced him. Jon moved to comfort his friend but an arrow through the eye killed Wun Wun before Jon could say a word, causing the giant to fall forward dead.

The Stark siblings' attention snapped to Ramsay as he lowered his murder weapon. 

“You suggested one on one combat, didn’t you?” Ramsay asked Jon. An array of loaded bows were pointed at Ramsay, including Y/N’s. He glanced at them all, his beady eyes lingering on Sansa, before he turned back to Jon. “I’ve reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

He withdrew another arrow and Jon seized the opportunity to swap his sword for a fallen soldier's shield. He brought it up just in time to have the arrow embed in the shield rather than himself.

Arms getting tired and no command to shoot, the other archers lowered their bows. Y/N did so too, taking out her sword instead. She knew Icarus would be ready to charge at any moment.

They all watched Jon slow approach, his lightning fast reactions as he blocked arrow after arrow. He finally got close enough to bash Bolton to the ground, abandoning the shield in order to rain blows down on his enemy. Bolton’s face got bloodier and bloodier with every punch. 

Y/N let this go on for a bit before she spoke up. “Hold on,” she requested.

Jon did pause and looked at her. “Why?”

“Let’s feed him to his hounds - they are starving after all,” she suggested with a wicked smile.

“My...hounds...are loyal,” Bolton managed to say.

“We shall see. Haul him to the kennels,” she ordered of the Vale knights. Jon stepped away from the man, allowing the bloody mess to be dragged off. 

Y/N dismounted Icarus and addressed them all. “Settle in. I shan’t be long.” She then stalked off to the kennels.

The knights tied Bolton to a chair in the middle of the kennel before leaving. Sansa had invited Jon along but he was busy dealing with their wounded men. So, Y/N would be the only witness to Ramsay’s death. He stirred, regaining some consciousness, gaze roaming till it froze on her. She stared back at him, silence ruling for a few moments.

“Ah...Sansa,” he rasped. In this timeline, they had fortunately not married, so her revenge wouldn’t be nearly as sweet. Still, the bastard deserves to die. “Is this where I’ll be staying now?” She didn’t feel the need to dignify that with an answer and so let silence linger. “You know, you’re a decent shot...for a _girl.”_

“Taunt and mock all you like, it won’t change the fact that your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear.” She said this slow, drawing out her revenge and letting both her own anger and Sansa’s anger fuel her.

The soft growls of starving hounds were heard and they crept out of their cages, drawn by the smell of fresh blood. Soft sounds were heard as they padded over to him. They were all skin and bone, wasting away before their very eyes.

Ramsay raised his chin in an attempt to seem confident, even as he was staring death in the face. “My hounds will never harm me,” he asserted.

“You know what they say; hungry dogs are never loyal,” she evilly smiled, drawing closer to watch.

She saw the panic flash in his eyes as a dog leant on the edge of the chair, sniffing Ramsay’s face. “Sit,” the dog’s master softly hissed. But they recognised no master except their own appetite. “Down,” he barked, louder this time. It was no use - the dog began to hungrily lick up the blood on his face. He repeated the command sternly but it fell on deaf ears. 

And then, the moment she had been waiting for came; _the first bite._

Fangs sunk into flesh as Ramsey screamed. Screams of pain he was so used to hearing from other people and never himself. The other dogs were quick to join in, barking up a frenzy as they feasted. New blood poured down him like a gushing river.

As she strolled away to let the hounds enjoy their dinner, she reflected. Taking life had been something she wasn’t sure she could manage, certain the act of doing so would leave a terrible stain on her very soul that nothing could cleanse. That, after the battle, she would renounce the warrior path and be more pacifistic - perhaps even drop out of the game altogether and become a minor advisor, whispering knowledge in Petyr’s ear and letting him make all the moves. But now, high on adrenaline, filled with glory for taking Winterfell and destroying house Bolton, she was sure the warrior path was for her.

_And she would take every step necessary to capture the Iron Throne._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best way to celebrate after a battle? Drink tons of mead and sneak off with your secret lover :p

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop! 1k hits! Thank you all ^_^
> 
> Enjoy! :)

All the banners within Winterfell were cut down. The majestic Stark banner was then hung up as the old banners were gathered for fire fuel. Y/N watched this all happen. She knew she was supposed to be overjoyed but she felt no real connection to the grey wolf. It wasn’t her banner or her sigil. A strange sadness lingered and she was quick to go inside.

Inside, celebrations were underway. The combination of roaring fires and collective mass of body heat made it almost unbearably hot and Y/N was tempted to slip off her furs. She had changed so that she was no longer wearing her armour, the prized possessions being kept safely within Winterfell. Instead, she had been given more fitting shirts and trousers along with furs. While she had been lost in her thoughts, her presence was noted by Jon.

He stood up, drink in hand, and began to make a toast. “My little sister fought well in her first battle,” he said, his voice casting a hush over the tipsy men. “She is a far cry from the little girl she once was. She’s now a warrior! And I am proud to see the transformation.” A round of whoops and cheers were heard.

A drink was unexpectedly pressed into Sansa’s hands and she, just like everyone else, took a long swig to celebrate. She wasn’t sure what it was but suspected it was mead. She didn’t complain as it tasted quite nice and warmed her insides.

“I would like to thank my brother and all of you for outstanding bravery on the battlefield,” she toasted, thanking everyone in attendance. She locked eyes with Jon and raised her drink. “Long live the King in the North!”

“LONG LIVE THE KING IN THE NORTH!” Came the thunderous echo. Drinks were downed and fists banged onto tables, the men now roaring with laughter.

Y/N joined in with the drinking and laughing before making her way over to Jon. They made space for her to sit and she was sandwiched between Jon and Brienne of Tarth. Podrick and Tormund sit opposite them, Davos and some others sat further down the table.

“I heard you fought well, my lady,” Brienne complimented.

“Thank you - and please call me Sansa,” she requested. Brienne looked a little confused by this. “Surely we can drop the formalities during this time of celebration,” she laughed, Jon laughing along with her.

“Of course, my la- Sansa,” Brienne replied, a teensy bit flustered.

She smiled at Brienne before the two of them took another sip of their mead. Y/N could plainly see how infatuated Tormund was with Brienne and would take every opportunity to tease them about it.

“Jon, how about a drinking competition?” Tormund suggested.

The King in the North shook his head before turning to Sansa. “How about you, little sister?” He smiled.

“Oh, no. Tormund would clearly win,” she replied, flattering the Free Folk raider. “But, I think Brienne could give you some decent competition.” She nudged the woman to her right with an elbow, giving her a cheeky grin.

She squirmed slightly, not liking the look Tormund was giving her. “I have training tomorrow, it wouldn’t be wise to drink heavily.”

Disappointed, Tormund turned to her squire, Podrick. Podrick was about to accept when a stern look from Brienne made him bow out. This put Tormund in a bit of a huff and Y/N’s tipsy mind had a great idea.

“Why don’t you challenge Lord Baelish?” She suggested, pointing to the lord. Petyr was leaning against the wall near the door, nursing a mead horn, looking both right at home and very out of place.

“Him? That stick couldn’t hold his drink if his life depended on it,” Tormund scoffed, turning back around.

“No, but you asking him would wind him up,” she smirked. With a chuckle, Tormund left their table to go bother the stick.

Podrick hid his amusement behind his drink as Brienne and Jon turned to question Sansa. “And why is he here?” Brienne questioned.

“He not only saved me from the Lannisters and brought me to the Vale to be trained, he also broke the Vale’s neutrality which allowed me to bring the Arryn army here. Without Lord Baelish, we couldn’t have recaptured Winterfell,” Y/N coolly explained.

“And why is he still here?” Brienne pressed.

Y/N took a long, drawn out drink as she watched the interaction on the other side of the room, ignoring the question for now.

Tormund had reached Petyr, after being a little distracted along the way, and was challenging him to a drinking contest. Petyr, even from her vantage point, radiated annoyance.

Tormund must have taken the ‘wind him up’ suggestion to heart as he was playing up his drunkenness. He started to sway, invading Petyr’s personal space. Due to his swaying, some of his mead spilt, nearing splashing onto Petyr.

The man snapped and from the looks of it heated words were exchanged. Petyr’s silver tongue would give him an upper hand in verbal sparring but she didn’t fancy his chances once punches were thrown.

Abandoning her drink, she jumped up and hurried across the room. Her haste was slowed down by her own stumbling and the various drunken men who were sprawled out all over the place. She reached the men, their heated words now being audible.

“- You Southerner lot need to piss off back to King’s Landing,” Tormund slurred before taking a big swig of his mead.

Petyr glare softened when Y/N approached. She turned to Tormund, intending to break things up before they turned physical. “Let’s just simmer. This is a celebration, no need to spoil things with a punch up.”

“Alright,” he sighed before stumbling away.

“Are you okay?” She whispered to Petyr.

“Yes. I don’t why that buffoon decided to bother me however,” he replied unamused.

She giggled at this, a twinge of guilt being felt. “I think your reputation precedes you,” she teased. He hummed, unconvinced, and took a sip of his mead. “Why don’t we go sit down?” She suggested, glancing at the table in the corner. She had given the Arryn army permission to join in with the celebrations and a fair amount of Vale knights had taken her up on her offer, retreating to a corner to drink in peace.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Sansa Stark fraternising with Littlefinger? That’s sure to spark rumours.”

“Might be a little late for that,” she sighed slightly.

He chuckled at this, a wicked smile on his face. “Well then, why don’t we just kiss?”

The idea was tempting but her logical side spoke up. “We can’t afford to be reckless.”

“Everyone is drunk out of their minds. The probability anyone remembers this night, especially accurately, is quite slim. So, no reliable witnesses means we’re in the clear.”

Even tipsy, his sharp mind was able to come up with a convincing argument. “Why don’t we just sneak off?” She suggested.

He smirked. “Ingenious~” He purred. The pair took a last swig of their mead before abandoning their drinks on an empty table. They headed into a corridor, seeking a private room.

* * *

The mead was starting to take effect, making them feel drunker. They began to stumble and sway a little more. They bumped into each other or swayed into a wall.

This seemed funny to them and so they laughed - well, giggled.

A vacant room was found and they paused in the corridor next to the door.

Petyr lent back against the wall, catching Y/N when she wobbled and nearly fell. His hands were on her waist, hers resting on his chest. They were gazing into the other’s eyes, unaware that someone was watching them from further down the corridor.

“I knew you were nervous going into battle,” he began.

“Was it that obvious?” She teased but he continued on a more serious note.

“I didn’t show it but I was scared - _terrified_ actually - that you wouldn’t survive your first battle.”

“Yes, yes, political gain and knowledge would be lost,” she said, rolling her eyes.

_“Listen!”_ He huffed in frustration. His expression was serious which made her shut up and hear him out. “I...care about you, beyond the aforementioned stuff. And no, it’s not Sansa I’m after.” He then dropped his voice, inching his face closer to hers with surprising coordination. “I want _you_ , Y/N.” 

She stared at him, eyes widening slightly. She couldn’t be sure if it was the alcohol making him say this or giving him the confidence to voice his feelings aloud. At that moment, she didn’t care.

The loves kissed, Petyr using a free hand to open the door. He guided them inside, the two of them knocking against the door frame as they entered. They parted; Y/N beginning to strip and make her way over to the bed, Petyr barricading the door to ensure their privacy. A chair was dragged over, the back of it being used to jam the door knob.

He turned around to see a half naked Y/N. She had completely stripped her bottom half and only her undershirt was left on. He turned round to see this tantalising site and quickly stripped himself. His drunkenness made it virtually impossible to strip and so he settled with just undoing his trousers.

Unfortunately, the alcohol had quite severely affected his performance capabilities.

“Oh dear,” she giggled, laughing with him and not at him. “Maybe I could lend a hand?~”

“A mouth would be better~” He purred as they swapped places.

He was now lying on the bed, hips resting on the edge with his feet planted on the floor. She knelt between his open legs, readying for the task at hand.

Her coordination was slipping thanks to the mead but Petyr’s now fuzzy brain didn’t have the room to complain. Sensations were strangely heightened and it didn’t take long for the warm up to turn into a climax.

His cumshot caught her off guard, her hands being covered in his cum as a little bit landed in her mouth. She wasn’t sure what to make of the taste but was thankful a clean rag was nearby and so used that to wipe up the mess. 

“My turn~” She smirked, hopping up onto the bed.

Head swimming with mead and pleasure, Petyr moved slowly into position.

She too felt the heightened sensations but it took a little longer to achieve orgasm.

Petyr’s technique, though no less enthusiastic, was less coordinated.

Still, he got the job done. 

The two of them, somewhat naked, fell back onto the bed. They tangled up in each other's arms before falling asleep - very much content in their cocoon of happiness.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon receives word about Dragonglass and has Y/N's support to meet with Daenerys Targaryen. He leaves the North in her hands, but not before having a word with Littlefinger...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is here! A little late but it is kind of a long one so it took a bit longer to write.
> 
> Regardless, enjoy! ^_^

An aching head and dry mouth is what Y/N woke up to. She groaned as she moved, her body having gone horribly stiff in the night. Petyr, judging by the groans, was also sharing her experience.

“Sleep well?” She asked, wincing at the light.

“Very,” he sarcastically replied. He sat up, grumbling at how everything seemed to hurt in one way or another.

“Y’know, maybe drinking mead on an empty stomach and both of us sleeping in quite a narrow bed isn’t a good idea,” she cheekily said, trying to laugh the discomfort away.

He just rolled his eyes and tidied himself, making himself presentable. It was a simple process that involved tucking his dick in, doing up his trousers, and smoothing out his clothes. Y/N had to completely dress, using Petyr to steady herself. Once they were done, he moved the chair and they walked out.

“Right, let’s grab something to drink,” she suggested and the two of them headed off for the kitchens.

* * *

After their headaches have gone and they’d raided the kitchen, they snuck out to stretch their limbs and alleviate some stiffness. They wandered in the Godswoods. Snow had blanketed the scenery in a cold, white dusting. The surface was pure and only spoiled by their footprints. Wind whispered through the leaves, playing with their hair as it passed. Y/N can clearly see why it had been a favourite place of Sansa’s; the beauty and peace was enough of a draw without the godly element.

Snow crunched underfoot as they strolled, thick furs keeping the pair warm. They reached a particularly impressive tree. Its trunk was thicker than the other trees and it was in a more central location. The bark was a silvery white, similar to the snow, the leaves as red as blood. To Y/N, this tree felt quite important and that’s when she recognised the pond bank. The grass was half buried by snow, discolouring the green so it had a hue of grey. The pond itself was frozen over. She approached the bank, hunkering down by the edge.

“Don’t do it,” Petyr called, watching her closely.

“Don’t do what?” She cheekily asked.

“Whatever it is you’re about to do,” he said, drawing closer.

She was lying on the bank, her left leg slowly extending outward toward the frozen pond. She lightly placed her foot on the surface. Nothing happened so she pressed more weight on the surface. Nothing still. She raised herself up on her arms, fully supporting her weight on her left leg. The ice made a soft creaking sound and this spooked Y/N enough for her to leap away from the pond. A disapproving yet relieved Petyr was there to help her up.

Face cold from lying down in the cold grass and front covered in snow, Y/N just brushed herself off. Her attention was caught by the red leaves. They seemed to glisten with frost in the sunlight. Some leaves hung down far enough so that she could touch them easily. She set herself a challenge; reach one of the leaves higher up. Setting her sights on the next highest one, she jumped up. Fingers outstretched and really believing, she went for it...

...and didn’t quite reach it.

Still, Y/N wasn’t a quitter, so she tried again. And again. And again. And again.

By this time, Petyr’s patience had worn a little thin. He stood to the side, getting a little cold and bored. As she landed from another failed attempt, her footing went and she stumbled forward. Petyr, who had looked the picture of unbothered, darted forward and caught her.

“Careful,” he lightly scolded, brushing snow from her hair. “Should we head back inside?”

“Hell no!” She proclaimed, racing off before he could stop her. Being more physically fit than him, she could escape into the trees and hide. He rushed after her, having a hard time finding her in the dark green fir trees.

“Come on Y/N, this is no time to fool around,” he scolded. He wandered around in search of her. Something then hit the back of his head, coldness exploding and some slipping down the back of his neck making a shiver go up his spine. A giggle is heard from behind him and snow crunched as Y/N ran off. He brushed the snow off before making his own snowball. He threw it in the direction she had run off in.

“Missed!” She giggled, chucking another snowball. This one hit his leg despite him trying to dodge.

Petyr got into the swing of things and their snowball fight became a snowball battle. Y/N proved very elusive and a great shot, a combination that allowed her to run rings around him. Still, Petyr was spry enough to dodge some shots and quick to throw snowballs even if his aim wasn’t particularly great. Snow splattered tree trunks more than it hit her.

He stood in a bit of clearing, snowball in hand. The dense fir branches made for excellent cover for a sneak attack. Crunching snow and snapping twigs would give her location away but silence reigned. He slowly turned in a circle, taking this more seriously than anticipated. He heard her sprint at him and turned to nail her with a snowball. The snowball hit her torso but that didn’t slow her down. Petyr tried to dodge but she tackled him.

They both went down, rolling over in the snow from the momentum of the collision. He ended up pinned underneath her, the pair of them a little dazed. She began to laugh, her joy being infectious and causing him to crack a smile.

“I win!” She beamed.

“Don’t gloat,” he said sternly but couldn’t keep a straight face.

She got off of him and helped him up. They spent a moment brushing the snow off themselves. She lent forward and gently rubbed her nose against his.

“What are you doing?” He asked, perplexed.

“It’s an Eskimo kiss,” she told him. He looked at her with a blank expression. “In my reality, people in very cold places don’t do traditional mouth kisses because their lips could freeze together. Just thought it was appropriate given the climate,” she clarified, shrugging at the end. She went to walk away but he gently caught her arm and swung her back around. He repeated her motions, giving her an Eskimo kiss. He didn’t have the same grace in his movements but it was still sweet. She rested her forehead against his, idly playing with his sigil.

“Lady Sansa?” A voice called from beyond the firs. They separated as if a bolt of electricity had struck them. 

“Yes?” Y/N replied, not recognising the voice. A few seconds later, a man stepped into the clearing. She guessed he was one of Jon’s soldiers.

“The King in the North requests your presence in the Great Hall,” the soldier said, the formalities tumbling out of his mouth in a clunky manner.

“Thank you, I shall be there in a moment,” she told him. The soldier walked away, leaving them alone again. “Do you think they suspect anything?” She joked. Petyr’s look of concern did unnerve her a little but she shook it off. “The meeting is just about him going to see Daenerys, leaving me in charge of the North.”

A wicked smile crossed his handsome features and he fixed her with a scheming look. “Oh, really now?”

“Well, c’mon, let’s go hear it from Jon himself,” she smirked and the two of them hurried back inside.

* * *

The Great Hall seemed quite small. It could have something to do with the mass gathering of men all seated at long bench-like tables. Sansa, along with Davos, sat at the High table. There was a space between them where Jon would sit. However, Jon was stood amongst the men, showing them a message he had received by raven.

“This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly. He was my brother at the Night’s Watch. A man I trust as much as anyone in this world,” Jon said, pausing slightly. “He’s discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of Dragonglass.” A murmur went through the crowd, though this news didn’t stir a reaction out of Y/N. Jon handed the message to a man sitting to his left. He then pulled out a second scroll. “I received this a few days ago. From Dragonstone...It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister.” Louder murmurs were heard, unsurprisingly negative. “He is now hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon said, causing a bit more of a stir.

Petyr’s eyes flicked over to Y/N. She sat back in her seat, watching him delve into thought as the cogs began to whirr in his head. Her attention was brought back to Jon as he continued.

“She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cerci Lannister. She has a powerful army at ‘er back. And, if this message is to be believed...Three dragons.” A round of much louder chattering sounded from the gathered men, Y/N spotting little Lyanna Mormont among them. Jon’s voice cut through them all. “Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys.” He then turns to Sansa, cloak swishing as he does so. “And I’m going to accept.”

Y/N knew Sansa was supposed to look shocked. And as the muffled outrage was heard, Y/N decided to voice her support.

“Do what you must, brother,” she said, voice loud and clear. 

He nodded before turning back to convince the others. “We need this Dragonglass, my lords.” The crowd quieted enough for him to be heard by all. “We know that Dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons.” Some heads were shook, many still not convinced. “But more importantly we need allies.”

Y/N glanced over at Petyr. He had become as still as a statue, eyes fixed on one spot before flicking to another a moment later. She could almost hear his thoughts as he ran through every scenario possible in his head, going down every train of thought.

“The Night King’s army grows larger by the day. We can’t defeat them on our own. We don’t have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragon fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us.” As he spoke, he turned to face the High table. “Sir Davos and I will ride for White Harbour tomorrow. Then sail for Dragonstone.”

There was a slight pause, in which Sansa would have injected the story of their grandfather. Y/N went slightly off script but wanted to keep a warning in Jon’s head. “Past relations between House Stark and House Targaryen were bloody. However, I believe the White Walker threat is significant enough that the matter of the Iron Throne can be pushed aside for the time being. The North is much more in danger of being overrun with White Walkers than at war with whoever wants the Throne. We cannot afford to turn down allies.”

She glanced over to Petyr, whose head was tilted as he analysed her words. _Interesting idea,_ was the thought painted on his face. She only hoped no one else could read his expression as easily.

Then Lord Royce stood up. Shock spiked through her as her stomach dropped. When did he get here? And, more importantly, who was looking after Robin? She didn’t have the time to process or ask these questions before his boorish voice was inflicted upon them.

“I have to disagree with you my grace,” he said to Jon before looking over at Sansa. “And with you as well, my lady. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister.” He sat back down, the crowd cheering his words.

Another man, the same one Jon had passed the first message to, stood up to state his disagreements. “ We called your brother ‘King’. And then he rode South and lost his kingdom.” 

He sat back down and little Lyanna Mormont stood up to talk. “Winter is here, your grace.” Jon turned to face Lyanna. “We need the King in the North _in the North_.” This brought the loudest cheers of all, Lyanna addressing Jon as the same thing Y/N had the previous drunken night before.

Jon looked around, a sober look on his face. “You all crowned me your King. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it ‘cus the North is my home. It’s part of me and I will _never_ stop fighting for it no matter the odds. But the odds are against us.” He paused, glancing down and sighing lightly as he searched for the right words. “None of you have seen the army of the dead. _None of you._ We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies - _powerful_ allies.” He turned back to face Sansa, speaking to her directly. “I am glad my sister understands this. And I leave the North in her capable hands - until I return.”

All eyes were on her, Jon’s and Petyr’s burning the most. Back straight, chin up, and eyes locked with Jon she nodded; hoping to come across as confident and capable even as her mind raced and her stomach flipped. Jon nodded back, a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

Everyone filed out as Jon dismissed them. Y/N lingered, waiting for Petyr but he was called back by Jon. She hovered by the door, waiting for the last of the men to shuffle out before walking over to the lingering men.

“You can leave, sister,” Jon said. 

“The North is being left in my hands. Any Northern business is my concern,” she retorted, standing beside him. A ghost of a smirk flickered over Petyr’s face, vanishing before Jon could see it. 

“Very well,” Jon nodded curtly before turning his attention to Littlefinger. “Don’t play me for a fool.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, your grace,” Littlefinger replied. Y/N, despite the quite serious situation, had to hold back her laughter. 

Jon pressed on. “I have it on very good authority that you were seen sneaking away from the celebrations last night-”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking,” Littlefinger interjected.

“Then what were you doing?” Jon asked, eyes narrowing.

“Simply choosing not to partake in the festivities any longer. That’s not a crime, your grace.”

Y/N noted this as a rather risky play on Petyr’s part - actively taunting Jon was not the wisest move one could make. But it was hilarious so she had to hand it to him there.

Still, Jon was less than amused. “We would have nothing to discuss-” He suddenly turned on Sansa. “-If you weren’t seen following him.”

“Jon, calm down, we can have a civil-” Y/N said but Jon’s anger just flared.

“Don’t even try to protect this cunt,” he spat. Before Y/N could say another word, Jon grabbed Petyr by the throat and bashed him against the nearest wall. Petyr was pinned there, Jon’s iron grip strangling him. He tried to prise the hand away, struggling in vain. 

“Get off of him!” She snarled, seizing Jon around the torso. Jon wore armour but she was somehow able to haul him away. Jon crashed into the table, rolling till he hit the floor, while Petyr slid down the wall coughing and gasping for breath. Only Y/N was left standing. To extend an olive branch, she helped Jon up. The Stark siblings looked at each other, feeling a mix of pride and guilt.

Pride dominated Jon’s face. “Where did you learn to wrestle?” He asked with a grin, focusing entirely on Sansa even as Petyr got up. 

“Sort of picked it up in the Vale,” she shrugged, returning a smile. “Now, you promise to be safe?”

“I promise,” he replied, embracing her. The hug was a little uncomfortable given the armour he wore but neither of them complained. When their hug ended, Jon marched up to Petyr, Y/N wedging herself in between them to avoid further conflict. She looked up at Jon with big, pleading eyes as she slipped into the role of a worried younger sister. This softened Jon’s stern expression slightly but it wasn’t enough to curb his ire. He glared at Littlefinger. “If you ever touch my sister again, I will kill you myself.” He then looked down at Sansa. “This incident will be cast aside. For the sake of our people, don’t allow him to poison your mind.”

“I won’t, brother,” she promised. Jon left, closing the door behind him. The two of them watched his departure, Y/N staring absentmindedly at the closed door. 

“That went well,” Petyr sarcastically drawled, attempting to lighten the mood. She didn’t acknowledge the joke and instead crossed the hall. “Where are you going?”

“To wave him off. Show support and all that,” she replied, walking outside.

The chill struck her and she shivered slightly. She spotted Jon mount his horse, Davos and some other men already waiting atop their horses. He glanced back, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he saw her. With a smile, she waved at him. This seemed to brighten him up and he waved back. Then he turned forward and made his horse trot on. Davos and the other men followed their King out of the gates, all of them riding out of view.

The moment she lost sight of Jon, it was hammered home that she was in charge. Now was the first time Y/N could participate in the Game of Thrones.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran arrives in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, how did I write so many words? 40,000+?!
> 
> Well, I'm glad you're all enjoying reading as much as I am writing ^_^

Y/N stood on the battlements, overseeing the hard working men making preparations both for the upcoming war and the harsh winter. Her hands rested on the wooden railing, brushing aside the light dusting of snow. She was dressed in dark furs and men’s clothes modified for a better fit, though this time she had chosen to don some of her armour. It was only her breastplate admittedly but, since Jon had left her in charge, she wanted to appear serious and battle ready. Even though she was scared on the inside.

Petyr stood to her left, resting against a supporting beam in a casual fashion. His gaze was fixed upon her but in a softer manner. She only hoped he was coming across like that to her.

Behind her stood Lord Royce and Maester Wolkan. She hadn’t gotten the opportunity to talk to Royce about Robin yet but could easily amend the script to pop in her question. For now, there were other pressing matters.

“How much do we have?” She inquired, still looking down at the courtyard.

“4,000 bushels, my lady,” Maester Wolkan replied.

“Meaning?” She inquired, turning to face the Maester. Her knowledge on supplies was a little lacking.

It was Lord Royce who jumped in to answer. “For the current occupants of the castle, it’s enough food for a year. Perhaps more.”

She began to walk, her entourage following. “And what’s the longest winter in the past 100 years?” Petyr naturally took his place beside her as they walked, the Maester following next, as Royce trailed at the back.

“Uh, I’m not entirely certain. I’ll check Maester Luwin’s records - he kept a copy of every raven scroll,” Maester Wolken replied with refreshing honesty.

They turned and descended the stairs in the same order. She glanced back, amused by the way Petyr acted as a bodyguard; placing himself between Y/N and the Maester. She got back into the flow of business, tone turning serious. “You’re telling me we don’t have enough food. Especially not if the armies of the North come back to defend Winterfell.”

“No, my lady, likely not,” Maester Wolken admitted as they reached the courtyard. Not breaking stride, Y/N turned right and continued their walking chat.

“We must prepare for that eventuality,” she commented. Her entourage became tighter knit, though Petyr hadn’t lost pace at all. Maester Wolken was a few steps behind her, Lord Royce half a step to the side of him. She turned her head to the side a little, making her voice clearer. “Whatever direction the threat comes from, this is the best place to be,” she continued. Petyr seemed to take great delight in his important place as he turned his head as fully around as he was able, looking back at the Maester and the Lord. An aura of smugness surrounded Petyr and Y/N had to try very hard not to laugh at his antics. After a moment of holding their gaze - smugness from him, jealousy from them (well, jealousy from Royce) - he turned back to face where they were going. “We need to start building up our grain stores with regular shipments from every keep in the North,” she ordered. “If we don’t use it by winter’s end, we’ll give it back to them. But if the _entire_ North has to flee to Winterfell, they won’t have enough time to bring wagon loads of grain with them.”

“Very wise, my lady,” Lord Royce remarked. She glanced back and saw Royce trying to burn a hole in the back of Petyr’s skull. Presumably because, while she was talking, Petyr was fidgeting. Fidgeting with his gloves, looking over at her, itching his face, smoothing his hair, and straightening his mockingbird sigil. 

Y/N knew Petyr had done those things just to wind up the others but she ignored the minor power struggle, instead turning to address the Maester. “Maester Wolken, you’ll see to it,” she tasked. He bowed and walked away to do as she commanded.

They were now beside a group of blacksmiths, all working on breastplate adjustments. She stopped, Lord Royce stopping with her. Petyr got ahead a few steps before quickly turning back to hover beside her. She turned to speak to Royce, Petyr observing their conversation. “How is Robin getting along?” She inquired.

“He is getting along fine. His skills, particularly in riding, have improved. He did ask me to give you this.” He fished out a scroll from a secure pocket and handed it to her. She couldn’t help but smile at the message before tucking it away for safekeeping. “I would have given it to you the moment I arrived, however, business comes first,” Lord Royce explained.

“Thank you, my lord.” She glanced over at the breastplates, the rest of the script coming to mind. “Are they covering those breastplates in leather?”

“No, my lady,” Royce replied.

“Once the real cold comes, leather might be useful,” she commented.

“Pardon me, my lady,” Royce said, excusing himself to speak with the blacksmiths.

Y/N and Petyr moved on, the duo seeming to move perfectly in sync. “You didn’t have to be _quite_ that smug,” she teased.

“I don’t know what you mean, _my lady_ ,” he purred. She rolled her eyes with a smirk. “Command does suit you,” he remarked.

She dropped her voice to a whisper but lent in so he could hear. “I think it might suit you better~”

He shivered, and not from the cold. They walked through an enclosed space before arriving in an outdoor passageway. Snow was thinner on the ground here, less people mingling too. She felt warmth as they passed metal bin-like structures that hosted small fires at the bottom. Petyr made her halt by stepping in front of her and stopping. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut to the chase.

“Worry about both the undead and Cersei - they’re equally dangerous,” she said, summing up the long spiel he was about to launch into. 

He smirked at this. “How ever did you guess?”

“Helps when you’ve read the script,” she joked.

He chuckled at this, about to capitalise on the privacy when a guard interrupted them. “Lady Sansa - at the gate,” the guard said, keeping things nice and vague. Perfectly composed, she turned to follow the guard, Petyr surprising her by holding his arm out. _Shall we?_ He asked in his wicked expression. _Indeed we shall,_ she answered in her own wicked look, taking his arm.

A crowd, made up of guards and people of all working roles, had gathered. It seemed like they were the last to arrive. They strolled down the path people had left open for them, Y/N regrettably had to let go of Petyr just before she reached Bran. Bran had a blank expression on his face as he looked around. Rather patchy furs were strewn over him in an attempt to keep him warm. She didn’t do or say anything, allowing her silence to convey shock.

But when Bran turned his head to look at her, it was as if she had been plunged into icy water. She drew her furs tighter around her, trying to keep from letting others know something was happening. After longer than she thought she could bear, Bran’s gaze shifted away from her. She began to warm up slowly, feeling as though she were being dried by freshly heated and quite fluffy towels.

Bran’s gaze had shifted to Petyr, who was standing just behind Y/N. His experience was different; the feeling of both being strangled and a knife twisting in his back attacking him at once. He willed his body not to react, locking up in an attempt to keep composed. He bit his tongue and tried to breathe through his nose, lungs screaming for air as nothing could get past the invisible hand that was crushing his esophagus. Just as he was certain he was about to pass out, Bran’s gaze flicked elsewhere. Petyr’s throat, sore from being strangled all too recently, didn’t appreciate the rough treatment. Likewise his back twinged, feeling like he had just pulled a muscle. He growled under his breath as he silently gulped down air.

“Sansa?” Bran asked. Thankfully, he wasn’t looking directly at her so she didn’t have to face blistering coldness again.

“I’m here, Bran,” she smiled, quickly moving in to hug her brother. Electric shocks were felt when she made contact with him - small, bearable shocks but unpleasant all the same.

* * *

Y/N ensured Bran got a comfortable and accessible room, stationing his entourage in the adjacent rooms. She had gently pushed his wheelchair (a gift from Maester Wolken) into the bedroom, rattling off a bunch of features about the room as servants busied around them. He didn’t reply, choosing instead to stare at the wall, his body now draped in proper furs with his hands resting in his lap.

“Bran? Bran??” She called, trying to get his attention. His gaze flicked to her direction, showing he was listening. “Do you want or need anything?”

“I don’t really want anymore,” he replied, sounding deep in thought.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and produced a hand bell made of metal with a sturdy handle and placed the bell on the bedside table. “If you need anything, ring this bell. A servant will come if no one else,” she explained, pointing to it. He didn’t acknowledge it, the wall seemingly far more interesting. “I have to go now. Goodnight Bran.” She then turned to leave the room, feeling his stare follow her. Her skin blisters from the cold and she was quick to shut the door, breaking his stare and freeing herself from the freezing effect. She hurried off to her room.

For reasons of convenience, both personal and professional, Petyr’s room was located next to hers. His door was open, and she could see that he was sitting at his desk with candlelight illuminating him. He watched her as she approached, these actions reminding her too much of Bran. She picked up her pace and quickly entered his room, shutting the door behind her.

Not a word was spoken between them, their pale faces able to convey everything. Y/N didn’t have a choice in that particular matter - fear had gripped her so tightly she couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. She drew her furs tightly around her as a chill cut through her. Pain flared in his throat and back, his hands working to soothe the flare up. Realisation dawned on them; her eyes widening, his eyebrows shooting up. She stood by the side of the desk, shivering slightly. He got up and embraced her, both of them needing a hug in that moment. Her armour made the hug uncomfortable and so she backed away to take it off. It was a bit fiddly but a moment later it was off. She put it on the bed so as to avoid damaging it and then sunk back into his arms.

Their shared body heat helped shift the chill she felt, and she focused in on his strong heartbeat which helped to clear her mind. One of his hands gently stroked her hair, bringing her extra comfort. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, finally able to relax since Jon’s departure.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya also returns to Winterfell, and is reunited with Bran and who appears to be Sansa. But, as ice grows colder from Bran's stares, Y/N is sure Bran is inching closer to the truth.

Bran was contemplating in his room, alone in the peace and quiet. He saw a few seconds into the future;

_Littlefinger walked down the corridor, slowing to a stop outside Bran’s room, hand raised to knock._

“Come in,” Bran called, just before Littlefinger had knocked. This rattled Littlefinger a little but he was able to smooth over his unease and entered the room. He draws up a chair and sits opposite Bran.

Once settled, he unsheathed the dagger he had brought with him. “This is for you,” he says, voice a little raspy. He holds out the dagger, twirling it in his hand so that the handle faced Bran. Bran simply looked at the dagger, examining the Valyrian steel blade without a word. “The last man who wielded it meant to cut your throat but your mother fought him off.” After that brief history lesson, silence fell. Littlefinger gestured for Bran to take the dagger which he did after a moment. He held it in his hands, studying the ornate handle. “I couldn’t save your mother but I will honour her in looking after her children. Your sister, Sansa, has found my assistance to be very useful. Anything I can do for you, Brandon? You need only ask.”

Bran stared down at the dagger even as he spoke. “Do you know who this belonged to?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “The very question is what started the war of the five kings. In a way that dagger made you what you are today. Forced from your home, driven out of the wilds beyond the wall. I imagine you’ve seen things most men wouldn’t believe.” Bran ran a finger down the safe edge of the blade, not acknowledging Littlefinger’s words. He handed Bran the sheath, into which he slid the blade. “To go through all of that, making your way home again only to find such... _chaos_ in the world. I can only imagine-”

Bran looked up suddenly. _“Chaos is a ladder,”_ Bran said, fixing his gaze upon the man opposite him. A terrible chill settled in Littlefinger’s bones, piercing the rest of his body the way he imagined only a White Walker would be able to do. His blood froze, slowing his heart rate. His lungs crystallised in ice, hindering his breathing. His mind became numb, only able to register the growing fear and panic. His smile dropped, words of confession about to tumble out of his mouth - 

The door opened and a woman entered. Bran’s gaze switched to her, saving Littlefinger. His body returned to normal in a jarring fashion; as if he had been lifted from a frozen lake and dropped into a boiling hot bath. The woman lingered in the doorway, all three of them having a minor standoff, their only weapons being their stares. 

Littlefinger looked back at Bran, deciding now was the best time to leave. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Lord Stark,” he apologised, standing up.

“I’m not Lord Stark,” Bran corrected, gaze hovering just to the side of Littlefinger. He just bowed his head and left the room.

* * *

Y/N and Petyr took solace in his room. He had arrived there, not surprised she was seated at his desk, and complained of a fierce chill. She had ordered the servants to draw up a hot bath. A large, metal bathtub was brought into his room and servants filled it with jugs full of hot water. Once the bath was full, Petyr was quick to dismiss them before stripping. She watched him strip, only looking away when his scar was on display. He tested the water temperature and, determining it was a shade below skin melting, got in. Water gently splashed as he settled. He sunk deep into the water, the tip of his scar appearing above the surface. He lent back against one end of the bath, facing her.

She took out Robin’s message from her person and unfurled the scroll. She then began to read aloud.

_“Sansa,_

_Training is going okay but things would be better if you were still here to help me. Midas is a good horse and I enjoy riding him but I think he misses Icarus as much as I miss you. I overheard some people talking about a big battle up North so I hope you are okay. Lord Royce has left to join you up North so I asked him to bring you my message._

_I miss you,_

_Robin.”_

She giggled when she saw the little parts at the bottom. _“P.S Say hello to Uncle Petyr for me,”_ she read. He smiled at this. Then she turned the scroll around to show him the picture Robin had drawn at the bottom. “Look at this! It’s Robin riding Midas and me riding Icarus,” she grinned.

He chuckled, unable to deny how sweet it was. “Royce would be furious if he knew the boy had wasted ink like that.”

She put the scroll back down on the desk, using two inkwells to stop it from curling up. “The boy has a name,” she said as she rummaged around for a quill. 

“Top right hand draw,” he said. She shot him a look to which he replied with a sly smile. 

She took out the quill and a fresh piece of parchment. She dipped the quill in the inkwell and proceeded to try and write…

...Only succeeding in creating an inky mess.

Petyr laughed himself silly at her failure and, try as she might to be mad at him, she joined in with the laughter. She did however get up and crouch beside the bathtub.

“Quit it!” She giggled, splashing water at him. He spluttered and she walked away to dry her hand on one of the linen rags that passed for towels in this world. There were several large rags, all neatly folded in a pile on the bed. She picked up the topmost towel and unfurled it. Once her hand was dry, she attempted to fold it up again but it wasn’t as neat as the others.

“You would make a terrible servant,” he teased.

“Good job I’m a Lady,” she replied with a grin.

“A lady or a warrior?” He questioned.

“Who says I can’t be a lady warrior? Or a warrior lady? Or both!” 

He laughed at this, as amused by her antics as she was his. He shot her a suggestive look, glancing down at the bath in an inviting manner. She rapped her knuckles against the breastplate she wore and shook her head with a smirk. She swore she saw him pout but the knock at the door distracted them both.

“State your business,” she called.

“A girl calling herself Arya wished to gain entrance to Winterfell,” came the reply from the guard. 

“She wanted to speak to Maester Luwin - the Maester is called Wolken,” the other guard added, suppressing a laugh. Y/N rolled her eyes and sighed quietly, only Petyr able to hear her. 

“I have business to attend to. Excuse me, Lord Baelish,” she bowed with a grin.

“Good luck in your business, my lady,” he bowed his head, smiling back.

“It’s a _family_ matter,” she said, loud enough for the guards to hear. She then crossed the room and stepped out into the corridor, quickly closing the door behind her. The guards stared at her, faces quite pale. She gave them a stern look, the two of them shying away like scolded puppies. “Get back to your post,” she ordered, the two of them scrambling to do so.

* * *

Y/N entered the crypt, turning the corner to see Arya. She was dressed in black, making her blend in with the many shadows the candlelight couldn’t displace. She was staring up at Ned’s statue, lost in thought. After a moment, she turned her head to acknowledge Sansa’s presence.

“Armour?” She questioned.

Y/N glanced down, noticing how the yellow candlelight dimly reflected off her breastplate. “I spent a few months training at the Vale after I fled King’s Landing,” she explained.

“I heard you fought alongside Jon to win back Winterfell.”

“That I did,” she soberly said, the horrors of war flashing across her mind. She buried it before the experience could consume her. Instead, she hurried over to Arya and embraced her. The hug was a little awkward - physically on account of Y/N’s armour, emotionally on account that the sisters hadn’t seen each other in years - and they pulled away to speak. “I apologise on behalf of my guards. With so much going on, some things aren’t as thoroughly done as they should be.”

“Sounds like you need better guards,” she sarcastically put.

She exhaled through her nose in a mild laugh but cracked a small smile. “Jon, I’m afraid, isn’t here at the moment.”

“And he left you in charge, Lady Stark?” She teased.

“Oh, don’t you start,” she ribbed, the two of them laughing at the exchange. “But, yes, I am in charge. Until he gets back. And when he does he’ll be very happy to see you.”

Arya smiled at the thought and their gaze drifted to the statue that stood beside them. “It doesn’t look like him,” she criticised. “It should have been carved by someone who knows his face.”

“Everyone who knew his face is dead,” she sombrely replied. 

“We’re not,” Arya observed. Y/N dipped her head in agreement, gaze lingering on the statue. She turned to face Sansa. “They say you killed Joffrey.”

“As much as I wished I had, I didn’t. I wasn’t even present to watch the light fade from his eyes.” The image of Joffrey choking on the blood the poison made him cough up both haunted and delighted her. 

“Me too. I was angry when I heard someone else had done it. However long my list got, he was always first.”

Y/N smiled at this, turning to look back at Arya. “See, I don’t keep a list. I just sit atop my horse, bow drawn, ready to put an arrow into anyone. Names, faces, houses - all irrelevant details. I don’t care who a person is, I just care about the right moment to launch my arrows.”

Something sparkled in Arya’s dark eyes; awe and understanding. Here was someone who understood how she felt, how she _operated_. Someone she could relate to - beyond sharing blood. She hugged Sansa and Sansa hugged back.

“Come along now, let’s go meet Bran,” she suggested. Arya pulled back, an expression of disbelief and joy painted on her face.

Bran was in Godswood, staring at the red leaved tree by the frozen pond. Y/N led the way over to him, trying to not let her nerves show. She gladly let Arya soak up Bran’s vision, hovering off to the side as she watched the siblings interact.

“You came home,” Bran said, a flicker of happiness on his face. Arya was quick to hug her brother and, to Y/N’s surprise, he hugged back. His gaze hovered around her, putting her on edge before Arya stepped back to shield her. “I saw you at the Crossroads,” he told Arya.

“You saw me?” She asked dumbfounded.

“I see quite a lot now,” Bran said. Those words made Y/N shiver but it was easy to mask it was from the cold. 

“Bran has...visions,” Y/N reluctantly chipped in. 

“I thought you might go to King’s Landing,” Bran said to Arya.

“So did I,” she replied. 

Y/N was perfectly happy to be left out of the loop but she couldn’t afford to have Arya not on her side. “Why would you go back, then?” She asked, hating the dumb words that tumbled out of her mouth.

“Cersei's on the list of names,” Bran explained in that monotone voice of his. Arya looked around at Sansa, awaiting judgement.

“Who’s list wouldn’t she be on?” Y/N cracked, hoping to put Arya at ease. It seemed to work as the sisters shared a smile. Bran unsheathes the dagger that had been lying in his lap, their gaze drawn to it. 

“Where did you get this?” Arya inquired, very much liking the look of the dagger. 

Bran glanced in Sansa’s direction, a chill cutting through her. “Littlefinger gave it to me.”

“Littlefinger? He’s here?” Arya turned around to look at Sansa, demanding an explanation.

“He saved me from King’s Landing, got me training while I was in the Vale, and brought me home,” Y/N explained. There was a moment of silence as the part in which Petyr’s motives are skipped over, Bran going straight ahead and holding out the now sheathed dagger to Arya. She took the dagger, admiring the beautiful handle.

“It’s wasted on a cripple,” Bran said. This was as close to a joke as he could get and Y/N smiled despite herself. 

The Stark siblings wandered back into the castle grounds, Arya pushing Bran while Y/N walked behind them. The procession of Starks walked in single file, not saying a word nor taking note of the stares from the labourers around them. From across the courtyard, Brienne and Podrick watched them. Y/N, although she couldn’t hear them, she knew of the conversation they were having. And she also knew Petyr was watching from the battlements.

There was plenty of time to talk to him later and so she focused on Sansa’s siblings, her mind drifting to the web of lies she had spun and how Bran could cause it to all come crashing down.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gloved hand waved away the obstruction in her mind’s eye a moment later, allowing Jon’s face to loom into view. Fury dominated his features, his voice rumbling like thunder;
> 
> What have you done to my sister?! Where is the true Sansa Stark?!
> 
> She shook her head weakly, trying to come up with explanations or excuses but all words were too pitiful to stand up.  
> The last of her strength was drained and she crashed onto the wooden floor of the battlement.
> 
> Blackness enveloped her vision and her mind was covered in a thick cloud of smoke, causing her to lose consciousness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe. I'd also like to thank people for their support and enjoyment of this fanfic.
> 
> Small warning; This particular chapter contains psychological pain and a little bit of graphic pain. 
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

Arya stepped into the small courtyard where Brienne and Podrick were sparring. Their swords clashed together, steel striking steel, before Podrick was hit in the gut and crumbled to the ground. 

“And don’t-” Brienne began.

“- And don’t fight someone like her in the first place,” Arya interrupted, making her presence known. Podrick struggled to his feet as Arya stepped over to them.

“Nice sword,” Brienne complimented. “Very nice dagger.” Arya pulled out the dagger, flipping it over and over in her hand before holding out the handle for Brienne to take.

Above on the battlements, Y/N was taking the scenic route as she discussed food supplies with Petyr.

“If they haven’t contributed the right amount of grain to our stores, then I’m afraid they’ll have to make do with what they’ve brought,” she recited, coming to a stop upon spotting the three figures in the courtyard. Petyr joined her in watching the commencing sparring, the two of them standing side by side by the wooden railing.

“It’s been a while since I’ve trained,” Arya modestly said.

“I can go and find the master of arms for you, my lady,” Brienne suggested, using her sword to gesture off to the side.

“He didn’t beat the Hound, you did,” Arya flattered. “I want to train with you.” Brienne looked away, a smile overcoming her features. Podrick gave her a look full of pride. “You swore to serve both my mother’s daughters, didn’t you?”

“What’s she ever done for me?” Y/N whispered to Petyr, lightly ribbing Brienne. 

“A very good point,” he whispered back, stifling a chuckle.

Brienne nodded, and instructed Podrick to move aside. She then got into her starting stance. When Arya drew her sword, aptly named ‘Needle’, Brienne objects.

“You can’t use that, my lady, it’s too small.”

“I won’t cut you, don’t worry,” Arya retorts.

“That’s a rather _cutting_ remark,” Y/N comments, wiggling her eyebrows at Petyr. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

Brienne raises her much larger sword and swings. Arya dodges in almost a lazy fashion and delivers several quick cuts to the sword before pointing the tip to Brienne’s throat. The sword swung again, the Stark dodging and ducking, bringing her sword from behind her back as she got low. Arya has to bend her back far to avoid the next sweeping swing and she rushes around the side of Brienne. They exchange several blows, Needle fast enough to stab into several places in quick succession, Oathkeeper large enough to block most of these stabs. Needle struck Brienne’s hand, bringing an end to that round of sparring. The women take a moment to catch their breath, staring down the other as they consider their next move.

“This is where you bring out your bow and shoot them all,” Petyr suggested with a smirk. 

“Indeed,” she agreed. “I have a very nice angle to do so.” She pretended to draw back an invisible bow, closing an eye as she lined up her shot.

Pain flashed through her skull and her body dropped, breastplate clanging against the wooden railing. Petyr’s hands prevented her from toppling over the railing. Voices ran through her head, too garbled to make out words. A mist descended, fogging her vision. A gloved hand waved away the obstruction in her mind’s eye a moment later, allowing Jon’s face to loom into view. Fury dominated his features, his voice rumbling like thunder.

_What have you done to my sister?! Where is the true Sansa Stark?!_

She shook her head weakly, trying to come up with explanations or excuses but all words were too pitiful to stand up. A hand, invisible to everyone but very real to her, reached out and crushed her esophagus in an iron grip, strangling her. Pure anger and blinding hate coursed down Jon’s arm like electricity through a wire. Lungs about to burst and head swimming, another voice - different and soft - cut through the anger.

_“Y/N,”_ Petyr said, seeming a million miles away.

She made to say his name but no sound came out. The last of her strength was drained and she crashed onto the wooden floor of the battlement. She was dimly aware of Petyr barking orders to the others, genuine worry present in his voice. His face hovered over her but her vision was blurry like a rain stained window. Despite this she could make out how scared he was - _terrified_ actually.

Blackness enveloped her vision and her mind was covered in a thick cloud of smoke, causing her to lose consciousness.

* * *

Bright, white lights flashed above her. Then it switched to dim candlelight. Back to the first lights, their brightness making her eyes sting.

The lighting situation continued to switch back and forth, Y/N covering her head and screwing her eyes shut to avoid the headache. Finally, the scenery settled but she dare not uncover just yet.

“Y/N? Can you hear me?” A voice, one she hadn’t heard in so long, asked. She bolted up, blinking at the harsh light that greeted her. The soft beeping of the various machines, the clinical colour scheme, the strange smell - rubbing alcohol and latex…

Her vision came back to her and she realised she was in a hospital room. White bed sheets covered her neatly and she was dressed in a light blue hospital gown. Upon seeing her parents she beamed. But they didn’t react. Not to her movements, not to her voice, not to anything she did. They weren’t even looking at her. She followed their gaze -

\- And was greeted by the sight of herself lying in the bed behind her.

She scrambled down the bed, screaming in shock. Her screams fell on deaf ears as she stared down her still self, breathing hard and wide eyed. She hadn’t seen her own face in what felt like forever, she had forgotten what she really looked like. Y/N drew closer, lost in thought as she looked at her own face.

An icy chill disturbed her and she turned to locate the source of the draft. Instead, she saw Bran observing her. She froze in shock momentarily before anger spurred her into action.

“Why have you brought me here?” She demanded. 

“This is where you belong,” Bran replied.

“I have business to do in Westeros, you will send me back!” She ordered.

“You have possessed Sansa Stark’s body and puppeteered her in accordance to your scheme with Littlefinger,” he stated, expression blank. “With you back in your own reality you will set her free.”

She stormed over to Bran, the fires inside her shielding her from the freezing effect his gaze had. “I didn’t choose her to be my vessel nor can I control any aspect of the...thing that let me go to Westeros.”

“You could have stopped the first few times. You could have stopped the moment you found out who’s body you were using. But you didn’t.” All Bran was doing was confronting her with the truth with no personal element behind his delivery. It was enough to drive Y/N mad. 

“People are counting on me to get the ending right! Masses are to be slaughtered needlessly if you allow things to continue canonically!” She shouted at him, working herself up into a frenzy.

“Do these masses include Robin Aryn and Petyr Baelish?” Bran asked, continuing to stare up at her blankly.

A dark fury clouded her expression and lent in close to his face. “If you have caused so much as a hair to be out of place on either of their heads, I will _strangle you_ with my own bare hands,” she hissed, the red mist lacing with her deadly promise. 

“I am not some revenge bent assassin. Arya on the other hand…”

She roared, unleashing bottled up anguish and fury, and turned away from him. She longed for her bow - even her sword would be welcomed weight right now. Arya could be a useful ally but would also stand in her way. A thought came to her and she spun back around. “Hold on, you have non-canon powers. How’d you get them?”

“Whatever magic was used to bring you to Westeros reacted with my own abilities and strengthened them.”

“See! We’re so far removed from the canon that you should just keep your nose out.”

“There is still a chance for things to return to normal.”

“Normal ends with the mass slaughter of innocents and you being nominated King in defiance of your Three Eyed Raven status!”

“Your nomination for king - Littlefinger - would destroy everything if he could be king of the ashes. Do you want to be queen of the ashes?”

Y/N paused to think and reflect upon this. She knew Petyr was dangerous and his greed for power could easily corrupt him. And yet she figured she could keep him grounded, hold him back from descending into madness. Finally, when she had her answer, she turned back to reveal it to Bran. “Even if Petyr does burn everything to the ground, we will rise...like _Phoenixs_.” Bran continued to stare her down with the blankest of looks but, for a fraction of a moment, she saw _fear_ flicker in his eyes - the remnants of old Brandon still residing in the shell before her. “Now, you _will_ send me back,” she ordered.

“And what about your parents?” He asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at her parents, barely able to look at them. “My business in Westeros is far from over. So, send me back this instant!” She set her steely glare on Bran, hands balling into fists at her side as her teeth were ground together. He regarded her silently for a moment before a sensation started in her mind. It was a dizzying sensation and she stumbled as her balance was taken from her.

The back of her legs hit the hospital bed and she toppled backwards. She shielded herself from the bright lights overhead, screwing up her eyes as a pressure built in her head. It built and built and _built_ until it filled her mind. Pain stabbed through her as the pressure began to push against her skull, about to burst her skull open. She contorted and screamed, begging the pain to stop -

* * *

\- A pair of hands grabbed a hold of her, trying to steady her. A voice, full of concealed panic, tried to pierce through her screams but couldn’t. She was writhing and twisting, crying out for mercy. Her skull was starting to crack, the sick sound echoing in her ears. She could see the white bone splinter in her mind’s eye and felt the mounting pain.

Bran’s face peered down at her from behind her closed eyelids. 

_“Confess,”_ he urged.

She screamed incoherent words and violently shook her head.

“You will die if you don’t. _Confess_.”

“NOOO!” She screamed and the magical hold on her seemed to break, the pain vanishing in a flash. She crashed onto the bed, exhausted. The voice that had been trying to get through this entire time was suddenly heard.

“Y/N?!” Came Petyr’s voice. She cracked open an eye and saw Petyr’s pale face staring down at her. Relief washed over him but her grey complexion worried him.

“Message,” she rasped. He scrambled over to the desk, ready to write in record time. 

“What do you want to say?” He inquired, gaze fixed on her as his quill was poised over the parchment. 

“Reply...to...Robin,” she breathlessly said, slowly recovering from her ordeal. She told him, in little raspy chunks, what she wanted to write to Robin. When finished, he read it back to her;

_“Robin,_

_I’m happy to hear your training is going well, I’m sure you’ll be able to get the hang of it without me. Some tips for archery are remember trajectory, account for wind resistance, and know your draw limits. Some tips for swordsmanship are work on your footwork, know how and when to use your body, and blend offensive and defensive together. I think Icarus misses Midas too, I haven’t been able to ride him much as I’ve been busy but he’s well looked after. Yes, I fought in a big battle, and came out the other side unharmed. Lord Royce gave me the message at his earliest convenience and told me how you were getting on. Everything up North is a little chaotic but I am doing just fine._

_Keep up the training,_

_Sansa.”_

“Add _P.S Uncle Petyr says hello and wishes you luck too,”_ she suggested. He added this part at the bottom before rolling up the scroll. He sealed the scroll with wax and took out a ring from his desk to plant on the sigil. She was too tired to question what was happening and simply drifted off to a dreamless sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N awakes in the middle of the night and slips out of bed to fulfil an important mission...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short but graphic chapter.
> 
> Blood and death warning - does this warrant a specific tag/warning for the overall fanfic? Still new to AO3's tagging system so let me know in the comments.
> 
> Enjoy regardless ^_^

Things were still pitch black when Y/N woke up. It wasn’t a jarring experience - instead rather a natural one, as though she were fully rested. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light and she slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Petyr who was sleeping soundly beside her. Without the need to rush, she crossed the room and stepped out into the corridor.

A sweet and faint singing was heard. Without a single question popping into her head, she followed the singing. With every step, the singing got ever so slightly louder though no words could be made out. She followed the sweet melody until she reached the door behind which the source of the singing laid. She pushed open the door carefully and stepped inside.

There lay Arya, curled up in the fetal position as she slept peacefully. She faced the bedside table upon which the dagger rested. Y/N crept across the room and found that the dagger was the source of the singing. But, as soon as she held it in her hand, the dagger fell silent. Her eyes flickered over to the sleeping assassin, the idea to plunge the dagger into her popping up but was replaced by a more tantalising suggestion. She left the room as silently as she had entered, heading down to another room.

She passed not a single other soul on her journey, not a single servant or guard. But she didn’t question this, preoccupied with finding the best grip for the dagger. Despite being barefoot and wearing only one layer, she didn’t feel the residual chill in the air nor notice the stone flooring stealing the heat from her.

Finally, she made it to the bedroom of her target. Just as she stepped up to the door, it gently swung open and her wheelchair bound target stared at her from his place beside the bed.

She rushed forward to scoop up the hand bell, making sure it didn’t ring. She then backed up so that it was out of his reach. Bran hadn’t moved an inch. She wasn’t sure he had even blinked. Cautiously, she crossed the room to place the bell down in the corner, her eyes locked on him the entire time. Dagger raised, she stepped back over to Bran, assessing him.

He was looking at her now, showing he was indeed alive.

 _Good,_ she thought. _I’ll have the pleasure of killing him myself._

She got closer to him, staring down into those void-like eyes. 

“Any last words?” She asked before her brain could register what she was saying.

“Tell Arya I’m sorry,” he quietly said. His head then titled back, exposing his jugular. She gripped the dagger with both hands and brought it high over her head, plunging down with all her might. It cut through his furs and clothes, embedding into his chest. Bran gurgled in surprise as blood spilled forth, darkening the already black fur he wore.

She repeated the action several times, Bran starting to flail and attempt to fight back but his injuries were too severe. Blood flooded his lungs and started to drown him from the inside. He gurgled and choked, not able to draw breath. She slashed his throat, silencing him. She quickly sidestepped as blood spurted out.

_Brandon Stark, The Three Eyed Raven, was dead a few seconds later._

The dagger, its blade completely covered with blood, was discarded onto the bed. She found a rag to get rid of the blood on her hands and used it before she discarded of it, not caring that it would be found easily. Miraculously, no blood had gotten on her clothes or in her hair.

She left Bran’s room, leaving his door slightly ajar, and headed back to her room. The notes of the dagger’s melody drifted into her mind and she hummed it as she walked. This relaxed her and she felt as if she were just taking a lovely night time stroll.

Soon, she was back in Petyr’s room and settling herself down in his bed. Even asleep, he had felt her absence and so rolled over to spoon her as soon as she had slipped under the covers. His arm was draped over her and she gently traced patterns over the back of his hand as the melody lulled her to sleep.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran's body is discovered the next morning and already fingers are being pointed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a little late but I hope you enjoy regardless ^_^

Chaos was instilled within the noble houses stationed at Winterfell. The bloody body of Bran the Broken had been found early that morning and now there was total panic. Littlefinger and Sansa seemed to be the only people able to keep a cool head. She called an emergency meeting in the Great Hall and was soon sat at the High Table, the various persons of importance bickering amongst themselves from their packed seats while Arya stood in the walkway between tables, looking to her sister. Petyr haunted his usual spot - leaning back against the wall as he surveyed the room. He had a particularly great view of the High Table. Y/N was soon able to get some semblance of quiet in order to speak.

“As you’re all aware, my brother is dead,” Y/N began.

“He was murdered in his bed!” Arya blurted out, the others cheering her on. 

“Thank you sister,” she said, her voice cutting through the cheers and simmering them down. “Indeed, he was murdered. But by whom we do not know.”

“Is it not obvious? Littlefinger killed our brother!” The fiery Stark accused. Despite the Northern’s loathing of the man, they weren’t brave enough to cheer for this accusation. Clearly, Sansa’s authority counted for something.

“I can assure you, my lady, I had nothing to do with your brother’s murder,” Petyr replied, telling the truth for once. His genuinely resonated with the Northerns and low whispers were exchanged amongst themselves.

“Did you gift Bran that dagger?” Arya questioned, setting her hard stare upon Petyr.

“Indeed I did.”

“This same dagger, your gift, was also used to assassinate Bran, correct?”

“Evidently so,” Petyr answered. A low hiss was heard as rumour escaped the Northerns like steam. Arya allowed her case to rest, seeming a little smug.

“This is circumstantial evidence,” Y/N dismissively said. Arya’s jaw dropped slightly as she looked back to her sister. “We have no more proof that Littlefinger was behind it than we have proof that you were involved, Arya.”

Her jaw truly dropped then, a few gasps being heard. She stumbled over her words as the shock hit her, scrambling to string together her sentence. “I would never kill my brother!”

Y/N lent forward, her head resting on her hands. “The dagger had swapped hands and was now in your possession, correct?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“And you kept the dagger on your person?”

“Yes.”

“And, on the night in question - last night, to be exact - you stashed the dagger in your bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“And did you notice, hear, or see anyone enter your room in order to take the dagger?”

“Nothing at all,” she reluctantly admitted through gritted teeth. This sparked a wildfire of speculation and rumour but Y/N’s questioning was far from over.

She turned to the other nobility. “Were any of you stirred from your slumber by any suspicious activities last night?” They all shook their heads, a little sheepish. 

She then turned to the guards, both the Vale lot and Winterfell’s own. “Did any person enter or leave Winterfell last night?” A chorus of “no, m’lady” was her answer.

Finally, she turned to the few servants who were present. “Was anyone, friend or foe, seen wandering the corridors last night?” The servants shook their heads, with one speaking up to say “not a soul, m’lady”.

She turned back to Arya, addressing everyone in the room while her gaze lingered on the Stark before her. “To make myself clear, I do not believe either my sister nor Littlefinger had a hand in Bran’s assassination. There is circumstantial evidence to suggest either of them could have been involved but I dismiss it on the grounds of being too flimsy.” She took a moment to clear her throat. “Well, then, we have a mystery on our hands. And a big decision in regards to that mystery. Some mystery person managed to waltz in and murder Bran without anyone noticing.”

Arya couldn’t hold her tongue a moment longer. “Our brother must be avenged! They could be back to kill us at any rate!” Her blurted out statement stirred their panic but Y/N cool-headedness was enough to soothe them.

Y/N spoke her tone calm. “If that person had wanted us dead, I’ve no doubt we would have been. After all, they stole the dagger out from under your nose - they could have easily killed you too if they wanted. I’ve no doubt this is just some loose ends being tied up. The same dagger was used in Bran’s first assassination attempt after all, who’s to say it’s not the same person?”

“Littlefinger gave Bran the dagger! Where did he get it from?!” Arya all but shouted.

Y/N conceded on this point. “A good question.” She turns to Petyr “Where did you acquire the dagger?”

“I thought Lord Stark would have an interest in that particular blade so I went searching for it. The blade had switched hands so many times because it was a valuable blade outside of its history. I couldn’t trace back it’s owner and nor could the person I brought it from,” Petyr answered.

“And who did you buy it from?” Arya demanded.

“A travelling merchant.”

“And who did he buy it from?”

“I did inquire but he didn’t answer. You know how Southerner merchants are - so very sly and they’ll never give you a straight answer.” The two of them stared at each other; Arya’s glare full of mistrust and anger, Petyr’s gaze possessing a sly smugness only he was able to pull off. 

Y/N brought everyone’s attention back to her. “So, there we are. We have no real suspects and certainly no evidence. We should prepare for Bran’s body to be taken down to the Stark Crypt. My sister and I will say some words in his honour. Security will be tightened as much as we can allow and Lord Royce will lead his men to search the surrounding grounds, see if they can turn anything up. Then we must get on with preparations.”

* * *

The meeting was disbanded and everyone hurried away to do their duties. Petyr lingered, casting an inquiring look to Y/N. She dismissed him and he stalked off, leaving the Stark sisters alone. Arya strolled up to the High Table, staring down her sister.

“How can you trust him?!” She hissed.

Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. “We are not having this conversation again.”

“Do you not know his ways? How he lurks behind the scenes, pulling the strings.”

“I am well acquainted with his ways.”

Arya slammed her hands on the table, voice now rising in volume as her frustration boiled over. “Then how can you stand him?! He is the most _disgusting_ man I have ever met - and given the type of men I meet, that is not a good thing.”

She fought hard to keep her cool but her gaze hardened to show she was not messing around. “I appreciate the concern, sister, but you have to trust me. I can handle Littlefinger.”

Arya baulked at this idea but she was wise enough to switch her angle of attack. “How can you be so uncaring?”

“Uncaring in what way?”

“Our brother was murdered and the intruder managed to do so while completely undetected. They stole my dagger to kill our brother! How can you not want revenge?!” She shouted, voice cracking a little as her fast blinking tried to prevent her tears from spilling.

Y/N pulled out a chair and gestured for Arya to sit down. She complied, seizing the opportunity to wipe away the tears before she sat. Y/N turned to the Stark and spoke in a soft tone. “Do you remember what I said about my method of revenge?” She inquired, carrying on when Arya nodded. “Well, the opportunity hasn’t presented itself. I can’t line up my shot when I’m positioned in the dark. Sure, I can still fire, but I could hit nothing and would have wasted an arrow. Worse still, I hit a potential ally and cause our downfall. It is not worth taking the shot.”

Arya nodded, her assassin mind taking a moment to digest her words. “Patience is key,” she quietly summarised.

“Exactly,” she praised before getting back to business. “Now, I must go and prepare a few things. Will you be okay while I do so?”

She nodded, busy examining the High Table’s wood grain. Y/N gently pulled her in for a hug, feeling that the little assassin needed one.

* * *

When Y/N finally got back to her room some time later, Petyr was standing beside the desk. They exchanged a smile before he crossed the room to embrace her.

“Sorry, the nobles were hounding me,” she explained, accompanying it with an eye roll that made him laugh.

“A good job I thought ahead and got the wine ready,” he smiled and led her over to the pre-poured glasses. He handed her a glass and they cheered with a _clink_ before drinking. The wine was a perfect median, not too high end but by no means cheap. “I must say, I am quite impressed.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I may not know the details but I am _loving_ the results.” She tapped the side of her nose with a small smirk before drinking more wine. “Perhaps we should have a bath drawn~” He suggested, returning her smirk.

She puts the glass down and turns to the desk. “I have a speech to prepare, a body to bury, and all the other preparations. I can’t just sit around drinking and bathing.”

He moved to her side with all the grace of a slinking cat. “Oh, but Y/N, you deserve to relax. This was your first assassination after all. Though I wish you had told me, we could have planned it better.”

She turned her head to look at him. “How much better can we have gotten? There’s no one who knows the truth, so no loose ends to tie up. No eyewitnesses, not a shred of evidence, and you are in the clear.”

He paused, eyebrows twitching in thought, before a lovely smile danced upon his face. “You make a very good point. And that is all the more reason to celebrate.”

She sighed but couldn’t help the small smile that quirked her mouth up. He shot her a smug look of victory before hurrying out of the room to fetch some servants. She took off her armour and unbuckled her belt. Carefully, she put her armour and sheathed sword away, sipping some more wine as she waited.

Petyr arrived back, a handful of servants in tow. Two of them were hauling in the metal tub, two others each carried a tall stack of rags posing as towels, the rest held jugs of boiled water. They set everything up in a quick and practised manner. Once they were done, they bowed to Y/N before leaving, the last one out gently pulling the door shut behind her.

They stripped, gaze lingering on each other’s bodies, before their attention was drawn to the bath. Petyr stuck a hand in, gauging the temperature. A few seconds later, he got in, settling at one end. She followed his lead, though her movements were less graceful. The water was a stark contrast to the freezing cold temperatures that permeated Winterfell. She flicked her hair over the edge of the bath, finally settled. They picked up their wine glasses from the desk and clinked again before drinking. 

“I was thinking of reinventing myself,” she mused, her eyes upon the dark red wine.

“And how would you do that?” He inquired.

“Simple - change my name and create my own house.”

He paused and she heard the cogs start to turn in his head. “I hope you’re not planning to do that too soon.”

She sighed. “I know I know - we can’t afford to lose the north.” She drank more of her wine, a frown cutting into her face. 

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Petyr softly said, dipping his head to try and catch her eyes. “I’m just saying the timing has to be just right. Besides, you have so much to focus on right now, let’s not add to the workload.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze. “Good point. What am I even going to say in my speech?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I’m not the one with future sight.”

“Future knowledge,” she corrected and he shrugged a shoulder in reply. She finished her wine and set her glass aside. “Enough with the work talk, let’s really relax~”

“Well, let’s not waste the hot water,” Petyr said. “Just sit back and enjoy - I have a feeling bathing will be a luxury we won’t be able to afford as water will be needed for other purposes.”

She agreed and they sunk into the water, relaxing in comfortable silence. Petyr continued to drink his wine whereas she was already feeling a little light-headed. She wasn’t a huge drinker in her own reality and in Westeros it’s all she’d really had to drink. Thoughts crept in, flashing back to just last night. Bran’s death, her first personal killing, was going to haunt her. _This is why others don’t get their hands dirty,_ she reflected as she gazed upon Petyr’s relaxed demeanour. 

In an effort to distract herself and convince him to move things along, she sat up. Her breasts surfaced, causing the water to ripple. This caught his attention and she tilted her head, smiling sweetly at him as her eyes half-lidded. His eyes, gorgeous grey-green orbs, roamed over her at a leisurely pace; drinking both in the sight of her and his wine.

The water eventually cooled and Y/N was the first to get out, Petyr following soon after. The two of them dried off, their eyes skimming over the other’s body. Y/N found a new appreciation for his ass, whereas Petyr noticed her lovely muscles - particularly the ones she had developed in her arms and back. 

She wrapped a towel around herself, but it didn’t stop her from shivering. “I’m so cold!”

“I know a way to warm you up~” He purred in her ear. His arms were quick to wrap around her, kisses being pressed to her cheek and neck. She giggled at these kisses and assisted his hands in making her towel drop.

She broke out of his embrace and slunk over to the bed. He watched as she crawled to the centre and knelt down on all fours, spreading her legs wide and sticking her ass up in his direction, wiggling in an enticing and teasing way. He didn’t any further convincing and quickly joined her on the bed, slotting into position behind her.

She was slick and warm, beyond ready for him. Still, a little foreplay would be a good way to pay her back for teasing. He employed the use of both hands; one dipping down to circle her clit, the other pressing a finger inside her. These actions drew light moans from her. He kept going, adding another finger and picking up the speed with both hands. Slightly louder moans were heard but he was holding out till she begged for him.

And that plea fell out her mouth not a moment later. _“Petyr~”_

He retracted his hands but, before she could say another word, he slammed into her, burying himself balls deep. She made a sound, a mix between a moan and a sigh, a long sound dipping with satisfaction. He drew back so that only the tip remained inside before slamming back in. He was in conflict with himself; both wanting to absolutely wreck her and also wanting to take his time. He hunkered over her, resting against her back. She felt his scar but didn’t say a word. His chin rested on her shoulder blade, hands having a firm grip on her hips.

“Ready?” He whispered in her ear.

“Go for it,” she smirked.

And go for it he did. He dug into her hips for purchase as he set a brutal pace. This rocked both her and the bed, and he was vaguely aware of the way her tits were swinging in rhythm with his thrusts. Her soft moans had transformed into much louder sounds, rising in pitch when he battered her g-spot.

Petyr ravaged her neck, sinking his teeth in to create numerous hickeys. This mix of pleasure and pain was a sweet spot all of its own and she screamed as her climax suddenly hit her. Her walls clamped down on his dick and he shuddered at the sensation. His own climax wasn’t too far behind and, a couple of brutal thrusts later, he was cumming. They stayed in that position for a moment, their afterglow beginning to blanket them.

He slowly sat up and withdrew his softening member before flopping down beside her. She similarly flopped and the two of them embrace each other in his more comfortable position. He brought her close, arms protectively wrapping around her. He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead, one hand gently playing with her hair. She slotted her head under his, an arm resting on his side.

Despite the endorphins flooding their brains, they were both still worrying. Petyr wasn’t sure how she was dealing with this brutal world and Y/N too worried for her mental well being.

But she buried these feelings, focusing on enjoying this blissful moment, wishing she could remain here forever. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran's body is laid to rest and the Stark sisters say their speeches in honour of their dead brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you're all still enjoying the story ^_^ Thank you all once again for the hits, kudos, and lovely comments.
> 
> Enjoy this more sombre chapter.

Bran’s body was transported to the family Crypt. He was wrapped in a pristine white sheet for privacy and carried by Stark soldiers as his sisters, along with the other nobles, watched. Arya and Y/N stood side by side, the former more emotionally devastated than the latter. Y/N silently watched on, projecting the strength of a good leader. Petyr was among the gathering of sober nobles, observing this all impartially. 

They stayed, all stood in the open courtyard as snow peppered their clothes and hair, for a while as Bran was carefully laid to rest. Y/N’s gaze flicked to those in attendance. She had no qualms with killing any of the nobles, perhaps she’d send someone else to do the job, but still she didn’t care for them - dead or alive. Arya, however, was a bit of a loose cannon. She was a Stark through and through, with hard morals and a stubborn streak to boot. A very useful ally but she could very easily turn against her. Until such a time when Y/N is the only Stark, she would play happy family.

Now, with Bran sealed away in the family crypt, Y/N led them all into the Great Hall for their speeches. The others shuffled in behind her, Arya glaring at Petyr as she passed him.

Arya and Y/N sat at the High Table, waiting for the nobles to settle. Petyr crossed the hall and got to his usual spot; lent against the cold stone to the right of the high table, within inches of an exit. He flicked his gaze over to her and she acknowledged it with a quick glance before standing to speak.

“This is an immensely sad occasion,” she began as the gathering quieted down. “Our brother had only been reunited with us for a short time before he was assassinated. We would like to say a few words and I will allow my sister, Arya, to say her speech first.” She gestured for Arya to stand before she sat down herself. 

Arya began her speech, addressing the gathering in a steady voice. “Brandon Stark, also known as Bran the Broken and recently The Three Eyed Raven, was my brother. We were close when we were young but our pack was scattered across Westeros for many years, only recently uniting. Jon wasn’t here to see his brother, unfortunately. He would have loved to meet back up with Bran, however briefly.” She paused, trying to keep her composure and stop the tears from spilling. When she was composed, she continued. “After Bran’s fall, in which he became ‘The Broken’, an attempt was made on his life. He would have been murdered if not for my mother, Catelyn Stark, who single-handedly fought off the cutthroat.”

The mention of Catelyn had gained Petyr’s attention and he now stared at Arya, transfixed almost. _Ah, the elephant in our relationship is finally addressed,_ Y/N thought as she glanced over at Petyr. She knew that he would always love Cat and nothing would push her from his heart. This made her ponder their own relationship - Was it love? Lust? Convenience? - whatever it was, it wasn’t pure. She was fully aware of his ways and his hunger for power along with his knack for manipulation. Manipulation was an element of their relationship, of course it was, but how big an element?

Y/N was pulled out of her musings by Arya’s speech, which had continued without her realising. She tuned back in. “...It seems someone had it out for Bran, more so when he became the Three Eyed Raven, and came back to finish the job. If I am to do anything before I die, I will avenge my brother and kill whoever assassinated him.” Arya’s voice was as hard as Valyrian steel, an emotionally raw cord present. Her promise for revenge resonated with the nobles for they cheered and pounded the tables to show their support.

Y/N stood up, thanking Arya with a nob, before turning her attention to the gathering. The other Stark sat and the cheering faded into silence as the nobles awaited her own speech. “I second my sister’s desire for revenge. However, we cannot afford to focus on avenging Bran - we must prepare for the rapidly approaching Winter. The Winter doesn’t bring just biting temperatures and food shortages, but also the Night King and his accompanying army. We must stock the grain, ready our soldiers, strengthen our alliances, and forge new ones. Our inner house bickering can be left aside until the White Walker army has been smashed. Then, and only then, will we be able to take our revenge!” This creates a huge roaring round of cheers and whoops and she waits for things to settle for just a second. “We will achieve the bright future Bran predicted!”

The gathering’s reaction practically shattered her eardrums from the sheer volume of thunderous applause and cheers. Y/N basked in this, knowing she had played her first move and played it well.

Her gaze flicked over to Petyr. 

He looked neutral but she could see the pure pride radiating off of him and allowed a small smile to grace her face.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N is continuing to plot and scheme, her emotions perhaps starting to get the best of her.
> 
> There's quite a bit of angst in this chapter so, if you like the more angry feels, this one's for you! 
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my am I inconsistent with updates as of late. Sorry everyone, I'm getting a bit of writer's block with these latest chapters.

Y/N had slipped out of bed in the early hours of the morning. It’s not that she got the luxury of lies in, but instead she was awake before the sun had even risen. She dressed in warm furs, leaving her armour and sword behind for later. She crossed the still courtyard, snow flecking her hair and clothes as she walked to the stables. The wooden overhang sheltered her from the snow before she stepped into the warm stable. Rows of wooden stalls were built to the left and right of her, a narrow stone path running down the middle.

“Icarus?” She whispered, wandering along the path. Horses slowly stirred in their stalls, many of them still asleep. A few muzzles popped over the sides of their stalls, their big eyes, pools of colour, peered at her with a sleepy curiosity. However, none of the horses were Icarus. She continued down the path, looking for her horse as she called out his name again in a low tone. More horse muzzled popped up to look at her as she walked.

Finally, she spotted a white star marking and ran over to that stall. “Icarus?” She asked, looking down at the horse. The horse jumped up and whinnied in excitement, nuzzling Y/N. She laughed and stroked his muzzle. “Hi Icarus. Oh, I’ve missed you. But, hey, I’ve got a little snack for you,” she said, producing a carrot from her pocket. Icarus was very happy to gobble the carrot down and made room for her to hop over the stall and join him in the hay.

He laid down, sitting up so he could see her. She curled up next to him, using a hand to stroke his mane. “We’ll have to get back in sync - riding wise. Good practice for things to come,” she told him. He snorted in agreement. She gently cupped his muzzle and spoke directly to him. “Big things are coming, Ick. Your role won’t be introduced yet - the Wall is no place for you. However, after that, you and I will be fighting and fighting _hard_ for the Throne.” 

* * *

Over the next few days, Y/N made it her top priority to improve her sword skills and she trained very hard indeed with Brienne. Her sheer aggression and dirty tactics was enough to wipe the floor with Podrick, and she made amends with him once the sparring was done. Arya joined them for training and today was no exception.

Podrick was being helped off the floor by the very person who had put him there.

“As long as you can keep getting back up, you will be fine,” Y/N said, making sure he was steady on his feet.

“And in the meantime I’ll be bruised and battered,” he joked, wincing in pain as his new wounds flared up.

Y/N turned to tell Brienne that Podrick is perhaps too injured to carry on when she saw Brienne and Arya wrapped up in whispered conversation. She gently guided him over to the wall, making sure he could lean against the wall without falling over, before stalking over to the women in deep discussion. “Something wrong?” She interjected, casting a look to both of them. Brienne straighten up and Arya turned her head to look her sister in the eye, their conversation dying the moment she had gotten within earshot.

“No, my lady,” Brienne answered.

“Good. I would want to know if something were amiss within Winterfell’s walls,” she replied before turning to Arya. “Sister, are you joining us for training?”

“I am. Though, Podrick doesn’t look too good,” she commented, nodding over to him. Their gaze all switched to him for a moment as he clutched his side and struggled to remain upright. 

Y/N turned back to Brienne. “I think I may have gone a little too hard on him when sparring. I believe he needs rest, if not medical attention.”

Brienne nodded. “We’ll have to pause training-”

“No need,” Y/N cut in with a smile. “Arya and I can spar while you help Podrick to his quarters. Perhaps stop by the Maester on the way.”

Both women nodded, agreeing to this plan. Brienne helped Podrick hobble away while Arya readied her sword. Y/N pulled out her own sword and studied the blade.

“What shall I call it?” She pondered, twirling it around and watching the weak winter light reflect off at different angles. 

“Depends what you want to say about your sword,” Arya said. “Mine is called Needle for its appearance, Brienne’s is called Oathkeeper for her loyalty, Jon’s is called Long Claw - not especially inventive but the sword’s properties are very special.”

“All very good points,” she nodded, her gaze still fixed on her blade. “Joffrey’s was called Widow’s Wail.”

“Yes, well, he always was a cunt,” Arya spat, unintentionally echoing Olenna Tyrell.

Y/N laughed and nodded. “That he was indeed. May the cunt rot in hell,” she hissed before raising her sword. “I think I’ll hold off on a name for my sword for now.”

“How about your bow?” Arya asked.

“I haven’t thought of a name for my bow,” she said. She thought for a moment. “Heartpiercer?”

“Sure. Maybe pierce for short.”

“Good idea,” she smiled before getting into her starting stance. “Ready?”

Arya twirled Needle around, a mildly smug expression on her face. “Ready,” she chirped.

Y/N lunged with a high slash, which Arya easily dodged, before she hooked a leg and shoved to knock Arya off balance. She stumbled and backed up, Y/N pressing forward and delivered several quick cuts, her blade flashing all around Arya. Needle was brought out from behind Arya’s back and swished through the air to deflect the other blade. Light metal clangs were heard as the blades met, snow being shuffled out the way as their footwork became quick steps in a dance. Y/N lashed out with a swing with her non-dominant hand. Arya caught it and they locked in a struggle as they simultaneously worked to cut the other down. Y/N twisted Arya’s wrist and took the opportunity to kick her knee out. Pain flashed across Arya’s expression but she grit her teeth and carried on, raising Needle to continue parrying as she scurried backward across the snow covered ground. Y/N kept up with the scurrying Stark and used her boot to kick up snow. Arya twisted to avoid being blinded and rolled away, rising to one knee. She would have gotten up but Y/N was upon her faster than anticipated.

The blade was swung, and Arya ducked back just in time, the sword glinting as it sailed past. She twisted and lunged forward, Needle leading the way. Y/N blocked the thrust and kicked Arya’s left hand. Needle was flung out of her grasp and the assassin rolled sideways to retrieve her blade. Y/N was quick to follow, landing a slash to her back. Her light armour protected her but the force still knocked her forward. She scrambled to turn over, Needle back in hand just in time to parry Y/N’s slashes. Arya attempted to kick out Y/N’s knee but the targeted leg was already swinging a kick of its own. Needle was once again flung into the snow, out of reach.

A boot was planted heavily onto Arya’s chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. Y/N grasped her sword with two hands and raised it above her head, the double edged blade pointed downward - ready to be plunged into the pinned foe below.

Their eyes flew wide simultaneously as a realisation dawned upon them. Powerful and mixed feelings flashed through Y/N, striking her like a lightning bolt. Arya’s brain was whirring but only the first piece of the puzzle had been unlocked for her.

With considerable effort, Y/N flung herself away from Arya, fumbling to sheath her sword. Arya quietly gasped for breath, forcing her sore body to react normally and pick herself up. Needle was also sheathed and the two of them stood silently, staring the other down. Y/N could almost see the giant question mark hover over Arya’s head as confusion dominated the younger girl’s hardened features. 

Just then, Brienne returned to their private courtyard. Her gaze switches from Arya and Y/N and vice versa, not sure what to make of the sister’s standoff.

“I must go - I have other business to attend to,” Y/N said, her voice a touch raspy. Brienne bowed her head and Arya said nothing as Y/N left.

* * *

Y/N sits at her desk, deep in thought and pondering many things. She overturns her recent realisation in her mind, replaying Arya’s reaction upon her sister’s mock execution attempt. Y/N cursed her foolishness, she had revealed too much and would no doubt set off suspicion in Arya’s mind - no doubt adding to the suspicion that already lingered there. Her head sunk into her hands, letting out a long sigh that unburdened her weary soul just a smidgen.

When she looked up how many moments later, Petyr was standing in the doorway. He’d been silently observing her for who knows how long.

She gestured towards the chair on the other side of her desk. “Sit.” He gently shut the door before occupying the seat opposite her. Before he could say a word, she cut him off to bark some commands. “I don’t need a lover, I don’t need a friend - _I just need an adviser.”_

He nodded, moulding his expression into something colder and serious. She knew him well enough to see through his facades and so saw how his affection for her still lingered. A part of her mind was warmed by this but she pushed that part away for now. 

“And what do you need advice on?” Petyr prompted.

“How do I defeat the White Walkers?”

“Jon is currently questing to get dragonglass, and Valyrian steel will also be useful to find though it is quite rare.”

“See, I have the thought of using Wildfire - it’s long range and the complete contrast of their ice abilities.”

“Wildfire is quite strictly controlled within King’s Landing - Cersei won’t give us the product or the recipe.”

“Then we’ll create our own version.”

Petyr raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And we have the time and resources for this experimentation?”

“If I market it correctly, yes.”

He lent forward, steepling his fingers as he looked at her intently. “Do you have a particular starting point?”

“Not particularly. I reckon the Maester will have some expertise in concoctions.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” Petyr murmured. “Do you have any knowledge of Wildfire?”

“Besides it being a liquid that is very easy to ignite and quite explosive, no. Like you said, the recipe is a highly guarded secret within King’s Landing.”

“So how do you hope to create your own version?”

“We have to get enough houses behind its creation - get as many of them offering up possible resources so we have a greater chance of finding a match.”

“And you’re not worried about traitors?”

“They’ll only know the ingredients - they won’t know the manufacturing process. Besides, it won’t matter what they know once they’re all dead.” 

The two of them shared a wicked smirk before Petyr asked his next question. “And how will you test its effectiveness?”

“Simple, I’ll go beyond the wall, capture a White Walker, drag them back, and douse it in our version of wildfire. We’ll record the results and repeat as needed.”

Panic flashed in his eyes, a stark contrast to her matter of fact tone. “Y/N, you can’t go beyond the wall. Send however many troops but you cannot go personally.”

“Forgetting titles, are we?” Y/N steely said, her gaze turning to a glare.

He glared right back. “This is no time to be petty, _Y/N.”_

“I’m not being petty, _Littlefinger,”_ she hissed.

He stood up, expression stern as he stared down at her. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion later when you’re not so irrational.”

She jumped up, almost knocking her chair back, and slammed her hands onto the desk. She lent forward, intensifying their standoff. _“Get out,”_ she snarled.

“Gladly,” he hissed, turning to leave. He had just reached the door and pulled it open when he turned back to say his leaving remark. “Perhaps the Maester has a cure for female hysteria.”

 **“OUT!”** She roared, snatching up an inkwell and chucking it at him. He was quick enough to use the door as a giant shield, the inkwell smashing upon impact and black ink splattering everywhere. The door was then slammed with all his might before he stomped off, his footsteps fading away as he no doubt went somewhere to sulk. She kicked his chair over and sneered at the closed door. Her heart was pounding hard as the adrenaline and anger ran through her, blood roaring in her ears as thoughts swirled in her mind. 

She collapsed onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling as bitterness began to bubble up seconds after the whole exchange.

Y/N repressed it all. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustrated with hitting a wall in production, Y/N goes for a ride with Icarus to clear her head. There, she finds something quite shocking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I want to apologise for the inactivity. Writer's block hit me hard. I would like to thank you all for your continued support and interest,
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

Y/N arrived at the Maester’s private study, and knocked on the heavy wooden door. 

“Come in,” the Maester bid, and Y/N was quick to do so. Maester Wolkan sat at the desk, his chains clinking together as he turned to face the lady. 

“Good Maester, I have a way of defeating the White Walkers,” she informed him.

“How so, my lady?”

“We just need to create a variation of wildfire, our own type-”

“My lady, wildfire is a securely kept secret within the Alchemists’ Guild which is stationed within King’s Landing under Cersei’s watchful eye. She would not give you any information on that product nor would the guild. Magic is most frowned upon anyway.”

“Maester, with all due respect, we are talking about White Walkers-” 

“Creatures most foul-” 

“- and created by magic. We have to use magic to fight magic.”

“Even so, we have no hope of getting any information from the guild and certainly no way of replicating the method of creation. We don’t even have any wildfire to reverse engineer.”

Frustration bubbled inside of her. The same things were being told to her again and again. She knew all of this and yet it still felt like a slap in the face. “Go through the archives, perhaps Maester Luwin had something.” Wolkan looked at her with a slightly questioning expression and she lost her cool. “Just do it Maester!” She snapped. “And if you find anything, report to me.” 

He nodded and was quick to begin his task. She exited the room, slamming the heavy door as much as she was able before stalking outside.

* * *

She stormed across the courtyard, people busying around her with their tasks. Her aura of anger and frustration shielded her, all the while keeping everyone at bay. She burst into the stable and rushed to Ick’s stall. He was up and ready as soon as she opened up his stall door. Without bothering to tack him up, she hopped on his back and charged out into the courtyard. Stares lingered upon her but she only met one pair of eyes.

There, standing above everyone else in the battlements, was Petyr. He was staring down at her and she met his gaze. He gently shook his head and her expression hardened as defiance shot through her. She broke his gaze and squeezed Icarus’s sides, galloping out of sight and leaving the castle grounds.

* * *

Thick mounds made of snow were charged through as they escaped into the vast white landscape. Winterfell shrank until it was just a smudge in the horizon and she slowed Ick down. He was breathing hard, his breath coming out as puffs of white clouds. Her own breath exited as smaller clouds but her furs fought off the chill. She couldn’t abandon her plans, she just needed some time to think.

“Wildfire. Fucking wildfire,” she swore, cursing the lore of the world she was trapped in. “Bloody George, keeping it a secret. Bloody Greeks, losing the fucking method in the first place. The whole world is full of incompetent pricks,” she informed Icarus, getting into the swing of her rant. Out here, no one could hear her nor judge her when she proceeded to swear her head off. A moment later she let off a scream of frustration, Icarus joining in with loud neighs. Their combined sound echoed in the empty space around them, growing fainter until it died a few seconds later. 

A bird screeched from overhead and she scanned the sky to spot the bird. The sun blinded her from seeing it and with another screech it was gone. She sighed quietly, adding another failure to the mental list. A glinting object slowly drifted down from the sky and she urged Icarus forward. It drifted into her open palm and she carefully inspected it.

It was a large flight feather, a striking red in colour with accents of metallic bronze. She ran a finger over it and discovered how soft it was. It was beautiful, _oh so beautiful._

She looked up and was greeted by a sight that sent an icy shock through her. There, not a few steps away, was Bran. He was no longer bound to his wheelchair and was standing beside a lone tree. He was dressed in fine clothes, not bothering to wear furs but the cold didn’t disturb him. She was frozen in place, her gaze fixed upon him. Icarus was snorting and fidgeting, ready to bolt. 

Bran’s attention suddenly turned to them and his stare alone was enough to spook Icarus. He reared, front hooves lashing out like boxer swings. She gripped onto her horse’s mane, crushing the feather in her hand, and dug her knees into his side as she tried to stay on. He dropped back down, snorting and pawing at the ground. Only her instructions to stay prevented him from tailing it back to Winterfell.

“Death has brought me peace,” Bran said, sounding like he had not seen Icarus rearing. “Has your path brought you happiness, _Y/N_?” 

She stared back at him as she turned Icarus to face Winterfell. Her body twisted as she kept her eyes locked with his. She gave no verbal answer nor did her expression change and yet he knew. He had peaked into her mind - _her very soul_ \- and found the truth. This unearthing was enough for her to command Icarus forward and the horse was more than happy to run away.

They bolted back to Winterfell, the weather taking a nasty turn all of a sudden. Snow more akin to hail pelted them, Banks of snow were now piled higher but Icarus ploughed through, working harder to dig through. She reached down to help clear the infernal sheets of ice away when he was having a hard time, all the while hail was hitting them sure to leaves marks and bruises in their wake. An icy chill, one similar to the icy feelings Bran left, cut through her clothes and settled in her bones. Icarus was panting hard, having no real protection against the cold aside his own hide.

“C’mon Ick, keep going,” she encouraged, squeezing at his sides. If he stopped, the ice would consume him and he would most likely freeze to death. The horse snorted and kept going, spurred on by her. She whispered promises of lots of lovely food and a nice warm stall if he made it back to Winterfell. Determination filled them both and they worked together to get through the deep snow.

She looked up and was relieved to see that Winterfell was closer than she thought. “Almost there Ick, just a little further,” she told him through chattering teeth. Her feet, now able to kick away the snow banks, had begun to go numb with cold as had her hands. She urged him forward, desperation clawing at her as instinctual panic flooded her mind. He whined in protest but kept going. 

Just outside the gates, the deep snow bank stopped and they cleared the cold trap and galloped into castle grounds with a final burst of energy.

People jumped out of the way of the charging horse, relief radiating from Y/N. Exhaustion threatened to collapse Icarus and so she was quick to slow him to a halt and jump off. “Take care of him and feed him well,” she instructed the stable hands that had rushed over to take control of the horse. All she saw was a nod before she was running in the opposite direction, feather still clenched tightly in her hand. 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N unlocks the secret of the phoenix feather and is ready to do what must be done...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been terrible with writing chapters but the story is picking up now, so that's something.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

Y/N burst into Wolkan’s office, quick to shut the door behind her. She peeked around, confirming that no one was around. Her hand unclenched, stiff from keeping a tight fist around the feather. It shined in the candlelight, seeming to be brighter than the candles. She tore her eyes away and looked around for equipment. She spotted a pestle and mortar and scooped it up. The feather was delicately placed inside and she used the pestle to grind up the feather. She had no experience with alchemy and chemistry was her weakest science.

“Bloody periodic table,” she cursed as she worked. “Bloody moles - the stupidest unit of measurement. Bloody electron shells - fucking balancing equations. Bloody chemical bonding. Bloody PH sc-” Her rant had gotten her worked up and the mortar slipped from her grasp, the ground up feather spilling out onto the table.

This sparked a reaction and an explosion of fire made her scream in terror. She fell back, pain shooting through her wrists as she landed awkwardly but she scrambled back quickly, eyes fixated upon the rapidly growing flames, only dimly aware of the mortal smashing on the floor and the pastel rolling away.

Red flames engulfed the table, towering upward and writhing as it took shape. With a cry as loud and proud as the mightiest bird, the shape solidified. Wings of fire shot out to the side as the regal head was tossed back, the beak gleaming even though the whole thing was made of fire. Its main body was a darker red than it’s beak and talons. Its eyes were bronze in colour and piercing as it looked at her. The intense heat from dancing flames hit her, making her sweat from more than just fear. Her skin prickled under her furs but she dare not make any sudden moves. From the bronze flames that were its eyes, she could feel a calculation be made, a judge upon her worthiness. She forced herself to her feet, ignoring the tight knot beginning to form in her stomach. 

“I am Y/N L/N. I am not from this world. I will take my place on the Iron Throne, even if I have to become Queen of the Ashes first,” she declared, the raw truth slipping from her lips. Her eyes widened slightly as it was darker than she imagined but she steeled her expression and awaited her judgement. The fire crackled and a single word was uttered but she didn’t catch it. Bronze eyes stared her down but she held her ground. 

With a loud screech, the phoenix twisted as it took flight, the fire bursting into a small explosion that knocked her to the floor. Her ears rang and she lay there stunned. All was still as she slowly gathered her bearings and sat up. 

In place of the phoenix were two objects atop a rather scorched table. 

One was a clear vial, not unlike the type used to house wildfire. The contents inside were as red as the phoenix's beak had been. She carefully picked up the vial and removed the ornate stopper. There was no discernible smell and when she moved the vial around she noticed how the concoction was thicker than wildfire. More of a lotion than a liquid. 

She replaced the stopper and put the redfire down before turning her attention to the other object. It was a small bottle with a leather cover and a note attached to it.

The letter read as follows;

_For emergencies only._

She plucked the note off, understanding the terms, and ripped it. She made sure it was in tiny pieces before throwing it in the dim fireplace. She placed the leather covered bottle in her pocket before picking up the vial to admire. If she caught the light correctly, the red was tinged with bronze.

“Phoenix Fire,” she whispered to herself. Footsteps from further down the corridor brought her back to reality and she quickly stashed the bottled fire. The scorch marks were still present and she saw the smashed pieces of mortal as well as the pestle that had rolled under a different table. 

She grabbed a large map and used it to hide the marks. She gathered the pieces, making sure not to cut herself on the jagged edges, and looked around for a place to hide them. In the end, she just chucked them in the fire and hid the lone pestle behind a stack of other things on a cramped self before ducking out of the room, one hand on the Phoenix Fire as she made her way to her quarters.

* * *

Y/N sat at her desk, donned in her freshly polished armour and warmest furs. Her hair was tied back securely and she gazed at her weapons that were laid out neatly on her desk. On her desk sat an open bottle of wine from which she had poured two glasses in preparation of her guest.

A knock at the door brought her out her light musings. Speak of the devil... 

“Come in,” she called, moving to stand as she heard the door squeak open. She turned, tucking in her desk chair as she did so, and locked eyes with him as she looked up. “Ah, Petyr~” She purred, smiling at him. She picked up the glasses; her own glass being held in her left hand and his glass being outstretched in offering. “So nice of you to join me.”

He stepped over, taking his glass, casting a veiled suspicious look at her. “Expecting something?” He glanced between her armour and weapons.

“One can never be over prepared,” she quipped with a smile. This did little to ease his suspicions but he let the subject go. She took a breath, calming herself before speaking. “Petyr, I must apologise for what happened. This rift between us needs repairing and I figured this would be a good time to do it.”

He took a moment to mull over her words. “And I too apologise for my behaviour. Certain comments were uncalled for.”

“Cheers to that,” she said, clicking her glass against his. They drank. Y/N took a much bigger mouthful but Petyr appreciated the taste to have more. Even to Y/N, not the biggest wine fan, it tasted delicious. She put her glass down, half of it gone. Petyr had paced himself a bit better and yet already had something of a buzz. She stepped close to him, one hand resting on his chest as she peered up at him. “I always need an adviser, I would love a friend, but right now I really want a _lover_ ~”. 

This brought a smirk to his face and he closed the gap and kissed her. She kissed back, hands slipping over his shoulders. His hands went down to hold her hips but he found the cold metal chestplate first. A tongue darted out to seek entrance but she denied him. Instead, she broke the kiss and playfully shoved him. He fell back onto her bed and she was quick to straddle him. 

“Taking charge are we?” He asked, a touch breathless.

“And why not?” She teased, the two of them sharing a smirk. 

Despite his buzz and his arousal, his mind was slowing down. He had been working hard as of late and his rest was less than peaceful. And yet something wasn’t adding up -

A light yawn passed his lips and he clicked it together.

He began to struggle, trying to push her off of him. She pinned him down by his shoulders, using her weight and strength to keep him there. He wasn’t the strongest at the best of times and now it felt like he was moving through quicksand. “Y/N, don’t,” he pleaded, his eyes going wide. 

“I’m sorry Petyr,” she whispered, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. He braced his hands against her chest plate and pushed with all his might. She budged slightly but his strength had been completely sapped and so his arms fell heavily. His breathing had slowed, his eyes half lidded.

“Fool,” he muttered before the sleeping draught claimed him and brought him into a dreamless sleep. He laid completely still beneath her save his chest rising and falling with even breaths.

Numbness spread through her and she leapt off of him, turning her back to him. Disgust churned her stomach, shame burning like bile in her throat. After making sure she wouldn’t throw up, she turned back to him. His lower half was hanging off the bed in an uncomfortable position. She scooped him up and manoeuvred him so he was now tucked safely into the bed. She ran a hand through his immaculate hair, regret bubbling within her. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him, though he couldn’t hear her. She kissed his cheek before withdrawing from his side.

Stepping over to the desk, she picked up his glass. Drugged wine still filled it and so she crossed to the fire, pouring the remains of it into the flames. The low alcohol content meant it wouldn’t light and the liquid wouldn’t douse the flame. She set his now empty glass on the desk before downing her own. She considered finishing the bottle but decided against it. She needed courage, not intoxication. 

Her bow, faithful Heartpiercer, was slung over her shoulder. Her sword was attached to her side via a belt. Her quiver was secured on her back and she was ready. She reached the door and placed a hand on the door knob. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder. Her heart sank but she forced herself to leave.

As Y/N walked down the corridor, she steeled herself for her mission. She was ready to go _Beyond the Wall._


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things have to be wrapped up before Y/N can head beyond the wall...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this fic has been left alone for a little bit but I've got it all planned out. So thank you all for sticking around and enjoying.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter too ^_^

Y/N stands, observing as the various nobles filled into their seats at the tables either side of her. Arya sat at the High Table behind her, mirroring Jon’s departure for Dragonstone. A murmur of rumour danced around the room but Y/N’s shift in movement brought the attention rightly back to her.

“A development has arisen, a wonderful opportunity,” she began, pausing for a second to allow her words to conjure images and ideas in their minds. “I have unlocked the secrets of wildfire and created a special version.” She glanced at the faces of the nobles, watching them turn to whisper to their neighbours, their features both showing worry and curiosity, a healthy dose of pragmatic ambition present. She only imagined how Arya looked and the little Stark spoke up.

“And where is the proof, sister?” She asked, voice even. She turned to face the young wolf and saw the muted emotions upon her pale face. Composed but lacking the manners other ladies possessed.

Y/N indulges in the Stark’s request and reaches into her pocket. She draws out the process, allowing the room to swell with baited breath and still silence. A moment later, she withdrew the vial and held it aloft for all to see. The vial’s red contents seemed to absorb the candlelight and glow brighter. She slowly turned in a circle, demonstrating that this was no trick or scam - certainly no snake oil. Noble expressions weren’t able to make up their mind about what reaction to give and it seems only one other was bold enough to ask her questions.

Lord Royce rose to his feet just as she had turned to face his direction. She stopped her slow shuffling and waited for his words. “Have you tested this substance, My Lady?” He asked.

A very good and sensible question, she approved with a nod. She continued the slow revolving, answering as she did. “And this is where I need collaboration,” she announced to the room. “Such a substance is notorious for being uncontrollable and highly dangerous. We need something built away from Winterfell so that we shall be safe while we experiment.” For paused, a useful tool for building impact, as she has discovered. “As for test subjects; We will need White Walkers. And that is why I’m going beyond the wall.”

This, as predicted, caused considerable uproar. There were many angles of disagreement to be thrown at her; 

_Winter is coming, they desperately need to prepare._

_Winter is coming, the conditions beyond the wall have only worsened, making it even more of a frozen death trap._

_Winter is coming, and with it comes the Long Night. The Night King and his undead army only march closer - an ever growing presence._

_The King in the North had already gone, and now his trusted overseer was going too? Who shall be Jon’s overseer’s overseer?_

All excellent points that she had already considered. There were also plenty more that were lost in the sea of voices as uncertainty washed over them all. She lowered the vial and was now facing the High Table, having completed her circle. The Stark sisters stared each other down. Arya had the same shocked expression as Sansa had when faced with Jon’s departure. Y/N’s eyes flicked over to where Petyr would always stand only to be greeted with the empty spot and the blank wall looking back at her. Her heart pained as breath caught in her chest, shame once again filling her. Her actions were a must, whatever fate lay beyond the wall her punishment should whatever higher forces at play decide to enact it. 

Despite the uproar and the uncertainty, Y/N would not be swayed off this course of action. She turns back to address the nobles. “I am going beyond the wall and I will need some of our finest and bravest soldiers to accompany me.” She half turned to look at Arya. “In the meantime, I leave my sister, Arya, in charge. Lord Baelish will be able to help if you need his advice. Now, I must ready myself and find a place to keep the Phoenix Fire safe.” She dismissed herself. As she passed the High Table, Arya attempted to catch her eye but to no avail. She passed Petyr’s empty spot and disappeared through his preferred exit. 

* * *

After storing the Phoenix Fire safely in the Maester’s study, she made her way to the main courtyard. Horses were being tacked up and a group of nine fine soldiers were all donned in their armour, busying themselves with the final preparations for the daunting journey ahead of them. Six of them were Jon’s men, the other three being brought from the Vale. Fine soldiers all of them.

She was ambushed by Arya and Brienne just a few steps from her own horse. She turned to address them, hoping to displace their sombre expression with a smile. 

“I can’t believe you’re going,” Arya expresses, clearly in a state of shock still. 

“Victory requires great sacrifice few are willing to make,” Y/N explained, drawing on the wisdom of Tywin. A small twinge hit her as she realised he had been dead for a while, spelling disaster to his house and indeed all of King’s Landing. She couldn’t dwell on that now, instead returning to the present and the glum faces before her.

“My Lady, allow me to join you,” Brienne spoke. “I have sworn an oath to keep you safe and on my life I shall fulfil it.” She drew her sword and knelt down before the lady to display her loyalty. 

“I would be a fool to discard your oath, Brienne of Tarth. However, you have sworn to keep more than just I alive,” she gestured to Arya. “Arise, Brienne of Tarth, brave and loyal and fierce be she.” Brienne obeyed and rose, noting the smile that lingered upon Y/N’s face as she sheathed her sword.

“My Lady -” Brienne began again. 

Y/N rose a hand, silencing the loyal lady. “I would not have your life wasted on the frozen grounds beyond the wall. I am willing to risk my life and these brave men have agreed to follow me into oblivion.”

“And you’re sure about leaving me in charge?” Arya pondered, worrying at her lower lip. She was not known to worry but Arya’s talents lay in combat, not the delicate subtleties of command and politics. 

“I am. I have faith in your abilities,” she nodded, smiling at the little wolf. She recognised that Arya was no idiot but, having no other choice, the post had been de factoed to her. 

“And you really trust Baelish?” Arya questioned, her distaste for the man evident in her voice. Brienne’s expression remained neutral but Y/N was aware that neither woman had any like for the man. 

“He is to be listened to as he has access to a wealth of information thanks to his network. You would do well to keep him close and gather what information he has. If anyone has answers, it’s him,” Y/N replied, doing her best to keep her true opinion under-wraps. 

“Interesting that he was absent from the meeting,” the Stark mused, working to exhaust every possible excuse Y/N could come up with.

“He accidentally ingested some sleeping draught. Labelling error,” Y/N simply said, her heart sinking once more.

All questions answered, Arya hugged what she thought was her sister, a kernel of guilt rattling around in Y/N’s mind as she recognised that the real Sansa had been gone for far longer. Here was little assassin Arya, believing she was about to lose her only sister, when the truth was far much uglier. Bitterness burned her taste buds and she did her best to comfort the girl, accepting more and more the punishment that awaited her. 

Pulling away after a long moment, she mounted an impatient Icarus with ease. Her soldiers mounted their horses too. With a wave and a smile, Y/N led the ride north, feeling part of a unit of deadmen walking more and more with each stride. 

* * *

They travelled without the need to communicate, their path to doom well laid out. Morale was low but their loyalty to her was stronger than their desire to desert. Perhaps their loyalty was because she carried the same burden as them, on the surface at least. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it. When they reached the wall, however many weeks later, a dark cloud hung above the group. The mark of death imprinted on their forlorn faces. The Night’s Watch met with them, trying to make them see reason and sense. Their logic would not be heard by the soldiers and certainly not by Y/N.

“The lady’s not for turning,” she informed them, dismounting her horse. Her soldiers followed suit, and the crows reluctantly stabled the horses. Icarus resisted, snorting and neighing in protest. He was close to uncontrollable and Y/N was on hand to lead him to his stables. “A moment, please,” she said to the stable hands. 

They left her alone with her horse. She shut his stall door and stroked his muzzle. “Oh, Ick, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for many things but they were necessary. This is my chance to save so many from bloodshed. To save those I love at least, if not the multitudes of innocents. I hope to make it back but if I don’t…” Her eyes filled with tears and she squeezed her eyes shut as she sobbed. He nuzzled her face gently and this only made her sob harder. “You are a good horse, Icarus,” she whispered to him, fighting to control her emotions. He snorted lightly, ears flicking. His big eyes stared at her as she wiped her face and took deep, rattling breaths.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. She placed a kiss upon the white star on his forehead before stepping back. Her hand lingered on his muzzle but she withdrew, heading out of the stable. 

_She dare not look back._

Bundled in thick furs and armour, Y/N led them over the wall. It was a long way down and the climb was slow and treacherous, the strong icy wind threatening to knock them off. Before long, they touched down on the frozen ground on the other side.

Wasting no time, Y/N led the march into oblivion. 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr comes to, barely beginning to grasp the reality of the situation.
> 
> Meanwhile, Y/N's journey beyond the wall is shaping up to be a strange one...
> 
> !SMUT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to cut down what was originally one very long chapter into several slightly smaller chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for all the kudos, hits, and comments ^_^

When the sleeping draught wore off, Petyr awoke in a groggy state. His head was still swimming and the warm room was beckoning him back into sleep. With a groan, he forced himself to sit up and blinked blearily around the room. Soft sheets had been tucked over him, most likely by Y/N.

_Y/N. The one who had drugged him in the first place._

Conflicting emotions swirled around his mind. He was beyond furious that this had happened to him. Countless plots involving multiple methods of manipulation and betrayal had been enacted flawlessly by him and in all that time no one had been able to turn the tables on him. Varys had tried but the Spider hadn’t succeeded. And yet here he was, having been drugged by his lover.

_Was she really his lover? Or just in possession of the Key to the North and future knowledge?_

His...feelings on the matter were complex, as was everything about the Game of Thrones. Sighing, he rose from the bed and smoothed the wrinkles in his clothes. He gave himself a moment for his mind to catch up. He would do himself no favours if his best weapon was blunt before diving into the mess Y/N had no doubt left at Winterfell. 

“Such a foolish move,” he cursed, shaking his head. Once his brain was back to its usual state, he left the room and headed down to the Great Hall.

Arya sat at the High Table, deep in contemplation. Petyr entered, his footsteps quiet upon the stone floor. Brienne of Tarth clocked his intrusion and was quick to move from her place behind Arya and over to him.

“Lady Arya is not to be disturbed,” Brienne stated, one hand grasping the pommel of her sword.

“I apologise for the intrusion, I was looking for Lady Sansa,” he explained, shifting his hand to rest on the hilt of his own blade.

“She had ridden North,” Arya explained, capturing both of their attention.

Petyr steps out from behind the giant of a woman and over to Arya. Brienne turns and steps with him, standing diagonal to him and hovering in his peripheral vision. He keeps his attention on Arya, turning on his suave. “I assume that you are in charge, Lady Arya.”

Her dark eyes met him as she sat up in her chair. “You may have manipulated my sister, but you will not do the same to me.” 

“I am a man of tricks and ploys, as is every other player in the game,” Petyr explained, his hand making a sweeping gesture. His unreadable expression softened slightly as he continued. “You may not believe me but I do have your sister’s best interests at heart.”

Arya regarded him for a second before standing up, the scraping of the chair breaking the small silence that had elapsed. She took her time in stepping from the slightly raised platform and coming down to his level. She stepped close to him, her shield copying the movements. Petyr noticed the repressed shudder from Arya as they stared at each other, psyching the other out. She examined him, interrogating the truth in his statement.

“You’re right,” she says, her face as steely as her dagger. “I don’t believe you.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her shoulder being used to unceremoniously barge him out the way. His mask slipped for a second, anger bubbling to the surface as he glared at the back of her head. Brienne shields Arya from his glare, drawing her sword enough for some of the blade to reflect the light. He schooled his face into a neutral expression as he secured his mask once more. The sword was sheathed and she followed her Lady out of the Great Hall.

Petyr let out a sigh. All things considered, that was rather successful. Arya, it seems, didn’t partake in the Stark tradition of strangling him when he had upset them. He’d no doubt that she would slit his throat given the chance. 

Petyr wasn’t a religious man but he cast his eyes to the ceiling, picturing the sky in his mind’s eyes as he said a silent prayer for Y/N’s safety.

* * *

She thought the cold had settled into her bones at Winterfell, but this was so much worse. It was as if her very bone marrow had been replaced with pure ice, the blocks weighing her down as she marched on. The wind lashed at them, almost sharp enough to cut their skin, and certainly harsh enough to dry their eyes. Their hoods were drawn up, their heads being cocooned in thick fur that lined the inside. Snow clung onto their fibres, trying to claw their way in to attack their skin. 

No words were passed between them as they marched on. They just had to keep walking. There came a point when the men couldn’t stand any longer and they were forced to stop and rest. The conditions were too unagreeable and they weren’t able to build a campfire. Instead, they resolved to huddle like penguins, their freezing and starving minds unable to come up with better ideas. The food they did have was extremely rationed. Y/N, being their commander and of supposed noble blood, was given priority when it came to survival. More food, more water, being in the warmest point within the huddle, and of course their willingness to die for her. 

And so, there they were; huddling up for the night. She was encircled by them, not a single word passing anyone’s lips. Tormund’s words kept rattling around in her head; _Walking’s good, fighting’s better, fucking’s best._ She looked at the soldiers. None of them being bad looking by any stretch of the imagination. It had been a while since she’d gotten any at all, so her desire began to stir. Besides, they deserved something for their loyalty. 

“We’ll freeze if we just sit here,” she said, breaking the silence the group had settled upon. 

They all turned to look at her. 

“What should we do, m’lady?” One of them asked.

“We’re too tired to really walk anywhere, we’re not about to waste energy fighting each other, so that only leaves one option…” She trailed off, allowing them to fill in the blank.

“What about your virtue, my lady?” A Vale knight inquired.

“This is about survival, plain and simple. I take no pleasure from this,” she replied, knowing this went very against their honour.

“Shame,” a different soldier, one of Jon’s, playfully said. The Vale knights gawked at him. He shifted so he was closer to her. “Shall we?~”

She nodded and they shifted into the missionary position. He was skilled and, despite the sheer layers they wore, had managed to gain access to her cunt. His dick was soon prodding at her entrance and low growls were heard from him. Vale knights averted their eyes, finding the affair obscene and very improper. The Northerners, however, watched. She looked at their expressions, seeing lust slowly heat up within them. Her own lust was stirring in her loins, spurred on when he located her clit. He ground his tip against it, sending sparks of pleasure through her. When she was wet enough, he pushed inside. They both gasped; she was tighter than he expected and he was likewise thicker than she expected. She spotted the Vale knights flush slightly but they still looked away.

Gripping onto her hips for purchase, he began to thrust. He was rough and fast but God damn if she didn’t love it. She was jostled by his brutal pace, stifling the moans he was able to coax out of her. When he battered her g-spot, she couldn’t help but let out a wanton moan. Her lover growled and began to thrust faster, the other Northerners watching them with rapt attention. A few wandering looks were cast their way by the Vale knights, their pale cheeks reddening but Y/N was aware that they would claim they were wind lashed to save face. She was dragged back to the present by her lover’s renewed efforts - specifically his hand dipping down to play with her clit.

She twisted a little, her hands gripping a hold of the snow beneath her as she neared her climax. He seemed to be nearing his own end but was determined to get her off first. She was still trying to quiet her moans and he leaned in to whisper to her. 

  
“Come on, your ladyship, no need to be shy~” He growled in her ear. 

She gave a small moan in reply and he smirked at this. She noticed the lust gleaming in the Northerner’s eyes, their hands resting in their laps as they idly pleasured themselves through the various layers they wore. Her mind became fuzzy as her peak hit her and she arched her back as a louder moan was ripped from her. He slowed his thrusts, gently working her through it before spending his seed inside a moment later. They stayed coupled as they calmed down.

A Vale knight, the one who had spoken up before, seemed incapable of holding his tongue any longer. “It’s not a good idea for him to spend his seed, my lady.”

This got a chuckle from her lover who looked over at the knight. “So you know something about the process?” He japed.

“For procreational purposes, yes,” the knight replied. 

Her lover huffed and slowly withdrew, some cum dripping out and blending in with the snow. “Who’s next?” He asked, shooting a grin at the eager Northerners.

“Are you sure about this, my lady?” The knight asked, his uncertainty reflected upon his face as he peered down at her.

“The method is indeed effective at keeping us warm,” she replied, feeling as though the ice blocks in her bones had melted.

“Indeed it is, m’lady,” her lover smirked. He reminded her of Bronn and she was about to ask his name but she bit down hard on her tongue. These men would all die. She was more attached than she originally planned, best not add to it.

Her reassurance did little to shift the dubious expression upon the Vale lot’s faces but before he could protest further, another Northerner had taken his place between her legs. 

The night continued on, the Northerners each taking turns testing out Y/N’s new warming method and thoroughly enjoying it. The Vale knights were despairing at the debauchery and averting their gaze, staring out upon the frozen wasteland they had found themselves on. Not-Bronn japed about the fierce chill before slipping back between her legs for a second go.

“My lady, don’t you worry about the consequences of these couplings?” The Vale knight once again chipped in.

“No, my good ser, I do not,” she replied, slightly distracted by the pleasure Not-Bronn was sparking through her. 

“No ser, my lady, just a knight,” he humbly replied, looking off to the side of her. 

She nodded with a small smile before throwing her head back in silent screams as her newest orgasm ripped through her. The countless load was pumped into her and Not-Bronn slumped atop her. Emotions raced across her mind - the guilt, the sadness, the worry - but she smothered it before those thoughts could consume her.

“Well, I’d say that was a success,” she announced. “But, we should actually get some rest now.” The most awake person was to take first watch while the others slept. The huddle was re-established, Not-Bronn refusing to move from his spot despite the Vale knight’s insistence. Y/N was able to smooth over their argument and assure both parties that this was fine. Finally, they were able to close their eyes and sleep.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A swirl of emotions bubble inside of Y/N as she grows closer to the soldiers accompanying her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, look at me uploading with some consistency :p
> 
> I'd also like to thank you all as this fanfic has passed 1.9k hits! 
> 
> Now, enjoy ^_^

They got into a good routine; march onward in the day, stop only when they couldn’t continue, fuck for warmth before sleeping. The frequent fucking was starting to make her kind of sore, Not-Bronn being the main culprit behind this. The Vale knight was kind enough to lend assistance when a limb manifested. He also chewed Not-Bronn out before placing a ‘sex ban’ until she healed. During this time, Not-Bronn japed about being cold and needing something to warm him up all the while inching himself closer to Y/N. The Vale knight put a stop to that, the knights acting as a barrier between Not-Bronn and Y/N. 

“She’s a Lady of the noble house Stark, not some wanton peasant,” the knight forcefully reminded the Northerner. 

“I remember this all being Lady Sansa’s idea,” Not-Bronn returned. The Vale knight just turned his back and refused to engage further.

Some nights later, when she was all healed and back in the swing of the strange routine, she was awakened by hushed discussion between two knights.

“But the others are too tired, my lady must take this watch,” a younger knight said.

“Lady Sansa will rest and will not be disturbed,” the knight who had taken quite an interest in her hissed back. 

She sat up and peered at them in the gloom. “I’m okay to take this watch,” she quietly said.

The younger knight looked relieved but the other knight was conflicted. “Very well, my lady,” he conceded, the two knights settling down. 

She remained sitting up, nothing to distract her from the ugly truths that bubbled up. No matter what her opinions of these men were, no matter how much she liked them, they would all die right before her eyes.

_ Slain by White Walkers - that was their future. _

Guilt burned her throat as she regretted asking for such good men. This would be easier if the men were awful individuals or just blank persons. 

But they weren’t.

She sighed, already knowing she was going to be haunted by her time on the ice even before anything had even happened. The least she could do was make things a bit more pleasurable.

A debate then swirled up in her mind -  _ should she ask for their names? _ Did it make it worse or better that she knew their names? They were going to die, their names were to be snuffed out, she could honour them while still alive. 

And so, when her watch had come to an end, she woke up Not-Bronn.

“Your turn,” she told him quietly. 

“Right right,” he yawned, slowly sitting up. 

She looked at him for a moment, doing a last minute weigh up before asking the question. “What’s your name?”

He looked slightly taken aback before he barked a laugh. “You are quite improper, eh?” He japed, glancing over at the sleeping Vale knight. “I’m Callith, Callith Bracken.”

“Sansa,” she replied with a small smile.

“First name basis?” He grinned, an eyebrow raised. “What next? Kisses? Hugs? Name day gifts?”

She laughed at his tease but it did pain her. She lied back down in the huddle, closing her eyes and trying to get some sleep.

* * *

Over the course of the next few days and nights, she had learned everyone’s names. The Northerners were called; Sulvan Narder, Alvar Trapp, Colren Drox, Dran Fell, Harald Lake and Rechar Sharp. The Vale knight who had taken an interest in protecting the status quo was called Dannis Vaele. The other two knights were called Nithan Taler and Cadder Vass. 

Nithan, as it turns out, was the younger knight she heard fighting with Dannis about if she should take a watch. Another twinge was felt as he was so young, in his very early twenties.  _ So much to live for, _ she thought sadly. 

All of the men were from non noble backgrounds, born to be cannon fodder in some noble’s war. 

She introduced the new custom to add to their dynamic; using first names when talking to each other. Dannis was most taken aback upon which Callith took the opportunity to jape at his expense. Y/N assured them that they would only invited to call her by her first name. The Vale knights kept up titles and such, the Northerners welcoming this break down of tradition. 

She still wasn’t sure what to make of all of this, the dark cloud still lingering above them. The small silver lining was the bottle that nestled in her pocket.  _ Emergencies only,  _ she reminded herself. 

Perhaps she would be able to save them after all. 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things all change when Y/N's group encounter White Walker scouts...

Finally, they came across a small group of White Walkers. A scouting group, she assumed, made up of 5 undead soldiers. 

“This is it,” she told the men quietly. All of them were hidden behind a large mound of snow, one of many in this area.

“Let’s go kill the bastards then,” Callith replied.

“Remember, we still need one alive,” she reminded them all. They nodded before splitting up into two groups. Y/N, Dannis, Callith, Nithan, and Cadder made up one group. The other Northerners, led by Rechar, banded together. Y/N led her group right, while Rechar’s group went left. 

Y/N made the dash to the next snow mound, one by one the others following her. She peaked out from behind the mound. Four of the White Walkers were entirely skeletal, vague fabrics draped over them and large swords clutched in their hands. Only the fifth White Walker was a mummified gaunt of a human. The flesh was pale blue, wisps of hair being as white as the snow around them, the eyes were a startling blue that made her jump slightly and duck back. The White Walker scouts were lumbering onward, right through the encirclement of snow mounds. She ducked back out and caught Rechar’s eyes. A nod was shared between the two of them before they dived back. 

“Here’s the plan - we flank the walkers and overwhelm with numbers. We should take down the blue one while we still have the numbers,” she told the group in a hushed voice. They nodded and she turned back. The Walkers were now in the centre of the mound encirclement, a perfect striking position. Sword in hand, she led the charge. 

She dodged the first swing from one of the skeletons, heading straight for the mummified humanoid. She struck the torso, her sword piercing the flesh before the walker shattered into a thousand pieces with a roar. Momentarily stunned, she was powerless to stop the skeletons cut one of her men down. The spilling of blood snapped her to and she was quick to think of a new plan.

“Back! Back all of you! I have Valyrian steel,” she ordered. While the men were willing to back up, the skeletons weren’t going to let them go. The men put up a fight but their swords did nothing than stall for all of a few seconds before five of them were killed. Down went Sulvan, Colren, Alvar, Herald, Drox, and Rechar. Blood covered their furs and the snow, staining all it touched.

With a roar, she charged.

She swung, destroying the first walker with ease. And, as if she had stuck him herself, down went Caddar. A giant slash had torn apart his furs, allowing an invisible blade to slash his chest causing an outpouring of blood. Nithan rushed to his fellow knight’s side just as the second walker rushed Y/N. She swung upon instinct, the invisible blade slicing into Nithan’s back this time causing him to topple onto Caddar.

The only two men left, Callith and Dannis, held their breath as the second to last walker was dealt with. She jabbed, her sword getting stuck in the exposed rib cage. The walker was vanquished and she turned back to see Callith collapse.

Dannis was quick to catch the man as he began to cough up blood. The last walker stumbled forward, Y/N ducking just in time to dodge the sword swing. 

“Swap!” She ordered Dannis. The knight rushed forward, distracting the walker while she hurried to Callith’s side. “I’m sorry,” she told him, her words nearly drowned out by the harsh wind and the clashing of swords. Callith was drowning in his own blood, his organs failing, and had mere moments to live. 

He was quite calm, strangely, content to look up at her. He gurgled something, a hand reaching up to cup her cheek. His hand was wet with blood but she pressed into it, trying to give him some peace in his final moment. He managed a smile, his teeth stained with his own blood, before death claimed him. He lay still and rapidly became cold. His hand dropped, leaving behind a bloody hand print on her cheek. 

She picked up her sword and set her eyes upon the last walker. Dannis was doing an excellent job of baiting it into fruitless combat but he wouldn’t last forever. She dug into her pocket and pulled out the bottle.

Quickly uncorking it, she downed it in one gulp. Strength flowed through her, filling her stomach and quenching her thirst as her energy returned. She stood up and charged at the walker. The walker’s attention switched to her, the sword jabbing at her. She was careful to only block the blows, never returning them. 

She glanced to her right, spotting a square box made of stone. She switched direction, leading the skeleton to the box. They exchanged blows, Y/N always on the back foot. She bumped into the edge of the box sooner than anticipated, nearly toppling into it. She managed to sidestep, the walker’s sword chipping the stone as it was swung down. With a swift kick, the walker fell into the box. Dannis was there and together they slammed the heavy lid shut, sealing the walker inside.

The pair of them were breathing hard, having fought well. She glanced around at the dead bodies of the men.

_Not well enough._

Dannis gasped for air, slumping forward onto the box. She came to his side, not able to offer any aid. “I’m so sorry,” she quietly said, drawing her sword up before plunging it into his throat. He died not a second later, a small mercy given he could have been slowly drowning for much longer. 

She then set about carving the dead bodies into many pieces, using her sword to get the job done quicker. The ground was far too hard to bury them but she hoped to prevent them from turning into walkers. She hoped the Valyerian steel would work preemptively. The Night King didn’t need a bigger army. 

She then looked at the box, wondering how it would take her home. She placed the hand atop the lid. Phoenix cries reached her ears and the box vanished, taking her along with it. 


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N travels back to Winterfell, her arrival not as smooth as she would like...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all once again for the hits, kudos, and bookmarks :)
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

The world span and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to not be sick as her stomach did somersaults. Finally, firm ground was once again beneath her feet and her knees buckled, making her stumble forward. Hands were pressed against the stone lid for support. She opened her eyes and saw the bewildered looks of the Night’s Watch.

“Ready my horse,” she ordered, her voice raspy. After a beat’s silence, one of them hurried off to do so. “Fetch me a cart of some type, I have to get this back to Winterfell,” she instructed another, slapping a palm against the stone. It stung but that was good. She focused on the mild pain, feeling it clear her mind. She stilled, not speaking another word nor taking in what was happening around her. 

At some point another crow had gone to get the requested cart. The rest of them continued to stare at Sansa, many questions on their lips. Perhaps they asked some but she never heard any. She was only dimly aware of the soft snorting of a horse, moving figures lingering in her peripheral.

“Lady Sansa?” A crow asked, his voice breaking through. She jumped and spun to face him. He was much too loud and much too close and so she backed away. Her hands never left the stone lid. “Your horse is ready,” he informed her.

Her gaze flicked past him and to Icarus. He was all tacked up and ready to go. Some other crows were in the final moments of securing the small cart to him. She nodded, her voice sticking in her throat.

Men, strong and capable, loaded the stone coffin onto the cart. It was then secured down with both leather straps and metal chains. She inspected the handiwork and found it to be a job well done.

“Thank you,” she murmured politely. She hopped up into the driver's seat, taking up the reins into her hands.

“Ride safe, m’lady,” a crow said. She gave him the best smile she could manage before instructing Icarus to walk on. After being cooped up for so long, Icarus was eager to obey. 

* * *

Petyr stood atop a snowy knoll beside Brienne with Arya the other side of her shield. They observed the construction of a simple wooden platform raised a few steps above the ground.

“An interesting structure, my lady,” Petyr mused.

“Commissioned by my sister just before she departed,” Arya replied simply.

“And its purpose?” 

“Target practice.”

Petyr recalled a conversation some time ago in which Y/N had insisted upon creating a special version of wildfire. Had she managed this? And more importantly how? 

Even pushing those questions aside, he was still confused by this project. Construction was quite late, considering it was only just being finished now. Perhaps the little Stark didn’t have faith in her older sister?

His thoughts were interrupted when a Vale knight appeared at his elbow. A scroll was passed to him before the knight dismissed himself. The seal showed the sigil of the Vale and he contemplated opening it. Not wanting to give the women standing beside him any more reason to distrust him, he removed himself from their watchful eye. He bowed his head to Arya, who didn’t acknowledge the gesture, before disappearing back inside the castle grounds. 

* * *

Y/N’s journey back to Winterfell was a fairly simple one, given it was pretty much a straight shot from Castle Black. The potion was still lingering within her, allowing her to keep going. They only stopped when Icarus needed to rest and never stayed a moment longer than necessary. The cart bounced up and down along the uneven roads, the straps and chains holding firm. She swore that she heard the walker snap and snarl as it was jostled but she paid it no attention. The potion protected her mind, keeping her calm and numb. 

This lasted for however long they were travelling, the journey faster this time. And soon, Winterfell came into view. The weak sun had just touched the horizon, signaling dusk. She slowed Icarus down to a gentle trot as they crawled to the finish line.

Sansa’s arrival was one without fanfare or festivities as she had not told anyone when she was expected back. Soldiers lingered in the courtyard, along with Brienne and Arya. Up in the battlements Petyr was perched, observing everything. 

The moment she crossed the threshold, the world spun violently. Greetings of surprise and joy were said to her but she didn’t hear a thing. Her body locked up, her balance just gone as she keeled over. Had it not been for the soldiers lingering near the cart, she would have crashed onto the courtyard ground. Thankfully, they were able to catch her. Arya and Brienne rushed over.

“Get the maester,” Arya ordered, a Northerner standing off to the side hurrying off to do so. She pressed the back of her hand to Sansa’s forehead, feeling her fluxing temperature. “Take her to her room.” The entourage did just that, Arya and Brienne being quick to follow.

Petyr watched this all unfold. Anxiety bubbled up within him, his hands gripping the handrail so tightly his knuckles went white. He wrenched himself away, following the entourage inside.

Upon reaching her room, two guards were stationed outside. He paused in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at them.

“No intrusions,” one of them gruffly says.

“On whose orders?” Petyr inquires. 

“Lady Arya,” the other guard told him. 

Petyr began to pace up and down, no doubt wearing down the wooden floorboards. The guards looked at him, but he paid them no mind. He was entirely focused on Y/N’s condition. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming just before departing and Arya had firmly built up a wall between herself and him. This just left him wondering, his mind working back through every conversation and analysing words and expressions. No metaphorical stone was left unturned and yet he was still in the dark. 

Finally, after what felt like aeons, Maester Wolkan stepped out. Petyr shifted to try and peer inside but the door was firmly shut before he could get a good look.

“How is Lady Sansa? He asked just before the maester could slip away.

“Her condition is stable. I believe it is just a case of road weariness,” Wolkan replied.

“And is she able to receive visitors?” 

“You’ll have to speak with Lady Arya,” Wolkan then gestured at the closed door before turning and walking away. 

The guards crossed their weapons, blocking the way. “Our orders haven’t changed,” one of them reminded him forcefully.

“I’d like to hear it from Lady Sansa herself,” Petyr stated coldly before ducking under and slipping into the room. Brienne stood by Arya who was seated beside the bed. Y/N was curled up tightly in the centre, a bundle of large thick furs downing her. He only made it a few steps into the room before the guards grabbed him, intent on kicking him out.

“Come along, m’lord, Lady Sansa doesn’t want intruders,” a guard said, louder than was strictly necessary.

Y/N stirred, disturbed by the small commotion. “Unhand him,” Arya ordered in a hiss. The guards did so and Petyr took the opportunity to stroll closer to the bed. Sansa’s red hair was sprawled wildly, revealing her more pale complexion. He also spotted the bloody hand print on her cheek - though it wasn’t hard to miss. As he smoothed out his clothes, Brienne gave Arya a questioning look. The young lady just dismissed the guards from the room and gave Brienne no reply. 

Silence settled in the room, a strange understanding being made between Arya and Petyr. They shared a single glance that lasted no more than a few seconds but the malice she usually looked at him with wasn’t present. They all watched over Y/N, their own worries spinning in their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider popping down a cheeky comment? :p


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr visits her the following morning and they have a little heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter but fluffy chapter.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

The bedroom door creaked open, the sound stirring Y/N from her slumber. She cracked an eye open, watching as a blurry figure sat in the chair beside her bed.

“Good morning,” Petyr said softly, peering down at her. 

“What’s so good about it?” She joked, her voice hoarse. 

They shared a small smile before she sat up and started stretching, her joints clicking as she did so. Petyr had placed a jug full of warm water onto her bedside table and dunked a clean rag into it. He wrung out excess water before turning her attention back to her. 

“Come here,” he gently instructed. She shook her head, backing away slightly. “Fine,” he sighed, trying to hand her the rag. She refused to take it and so he just placed it aside, sitting back in his chair. “Why do you have blood on your cheek?”

She could feel the dried blood stuck to her cheek whenever she talked as it pulled the skin a little taunt. “In memory of the soldiers,” she quietly answered.

“Oh Y/N,” he sighed, a sad expression on his face.

“You don’t know what it was like.”

“So tell me.”

She sunk further into her fur cocoon, staring off into space as she slowly gathered the words. “At first, I wasn’t going to get attached. I knew they were going to die and I tried to save myself some pain…” She trailed off, taking in ragged breaths in an effort to keep composed.

“Take your time,” he said, extending a hand for her to hold. 

She grabbed his hand before continuing. “We were freezing and so in an effort to warm up...we fucked.” She glanced at him. Petyr’s expression was stony but he didn’t say a word. “I learned their names, over the course of the journey, and tried to make things as pleasant for them as possible. I-I thought I could save them - there was this potion, for emergencies only, and I drank it before fighting the walkers...my sword, Valyrian steel it turns out, killed them all. I held one of them, Callith Bracken, in my arms as he drowned in his own blood. He smiled up at me, his own blood staining his teeth. He tried to comfort me, even as he was dying, even though my hand had killed him.” She paused, taking deep breaths as she felt a lump form in her throat. “He cupped my cheek, which is why I have this,” she pointed to the bloody hand print. “I’d feel like I was washing away their existence for good if this were to be gone.”

He digested this information, thinking about it for a few moments. “Sympathy is a natural thing. You have emotions and are not completely cold like Joffrey or Ramsay. That being said, empathy will be your downfall if you continue to leave yourself unguarded. This game is ruthless and any weakness will be exploited by the other players. You cannot afford to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

She nodded, letting out a small sigh. “I know…”

He pulled her into a hug, seamlessly slipping her onto his lap. They rested against each other, foreheads touching. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut but tears still slipped down her cheeks. He rubbed her back to comfort her like she did for him all those months ago in the Vale. Neither of them said a word as she let out all her grief and guilt and sadness.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N demonstrates her Phoenix Fire, and after successfully doing so, she goes of to celebrate with her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is late, but there's smut soooo it's all good? :p
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

Y/N stood before the gathering of allies, ready for the demonstration. Upon the wooden platform sat the stone box. Two soldiers were awaiting the signal to open the lid, their grip firmly on the edge of it. The audience stood a safe distance away. Wildfire was unpredictable at the best of times nevermind the untested cousin. She turned her head, meeting the gaze of the trio looking back at her. They were waiting for the results of the demonstration, varying degrees of worry crossing their features.

She turned back to the task at hand. The tip of her arrow was dipped in Phoenix Fire, a small fire on the ground beside her. She nodded to the soldiers and they hauled the lid open, scurrying back. The wight roared and charged, making many people jump. A thick chain had been secured around its neck and it came to a jarring halt as the chain reached its limit, snapping the wight’s head back and decking it. She lit the arrow and lined up her shot. The wight was struggling to its feet but it never got the chance to get up. She fired, the arrow spinning through the air and embedding into its skull. The roar was cut off as the creature was essentially blown up. A small shock wave rippled through the air, blowing hair back and ruffling clothes. 

_Nobody moved._

For a good minute, everyone was still, their mind’s reeling with the possibilities this outcome provided them. Absentmindedly, Y/N traced over the bloody hand print still staining her cheek as she thought. Tears that she had shed that morning streaked through the dried blood and she traced down the trails. 

_It worked._

_Thank fuck for that._

Her guilt eased slightly, knowing their deaths were not in vain. She would have crumbled if she was unsuccessful, her guilt crushing her like a ton of bricks. She shook her head, pushing away those thoughts. Right now, she craved distraction and so turned her attention to her lover. Their eyes met and he titled his head inquiringly. She tilted her head back in confirmation before corking the phoenix fire and moving to put her weapons away. 

She passed behind the trio, ignoring both Arya and Brienne, a single glance at Petyr enough invitation for him to follow her.

“Sansa Stark ignoring her sister and shield to run off with Littlefinger - their heads will be spinning with rumours,” he commented lowly as they walked.

“Let them gossip,” she replied. “Us birds will still fly high.” He smirked at this and followed her inside.

* * *

They were soon in her bedchamber, Petyr just having closed the door before she lays on her seduction.

“We still have to make amends~” She purred.

He smirked at this and brought her in for a kiss. It was short but made her heart flutter. Upon pulling away, his gaze flicked to her left cheek - 

_to the hand print._

She dipped her head in a small nod before crossing the room. The rag and jug was still there from where he had put it that morning. She picked up the damp rag and used it to wipe the bloody hand print away.

The dried blood took a bit of scrubbing to remove and Y/N was sure the stain would always remain on her soul. 

Arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her back to the present. His chin rested on her shoulder and he pressed a kiss to her now clean cheek. This brought a small smile to her face and she abandoned the rag to turn her attention to her lover. She captured his lips and gently steered him over to the bed. Their hands undressed the other with practiced moves motivated by desperation to feel each other. 

They now stood by the bed, naked and just taking a second to admire each other. His undershirt was off, his scar on display. Worry crossed his features and she smiled at him, taking a hold of his hand and bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. He relaxed and she gently guided him to lie back on the bed, straddling his hips as he did so. 

“You’re not going to drug me this time, are you?” He joked darkly.

Guilt flooded through her like icy water and she tensed up, shoulder blades sticking out as she hunched forward. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologised, serious as the grave. 

To put her back at ease, he trailed his hands up her thighs which left goosebumps in their wake. “We just need to be more open with each other. Tell me the plan next time.”

She was quick to nod. “I will,” she promised. 

His hands darted to her hips and encouraged her to sink down onto his dick. He growled at how tight and warm she felt before pulling her down for a bruising kiss. She rocks her hips, enjoying this position. Petyr, however, wanted to be on top.

_And so began the fight for dominance._

They wrestled, constantly switching who was pinning down who. Their kisses were all teeth and tongues, nails scratching the other and littering their pale flesh with bright red streaks. He managed to stay in for the most part, thrusting back in hard enough to make her see stars when he did slip out. At long last, she laid back and accepted the savage thrusts her love gave her.

_Not quietly mind._

His battering of her g-spot whilst simultaneously grounding her clit with his spare hand tore screams from her throat. 

“Not so loud, my love~” He teasingly said in her ear, before nipping at her ear lobe. Her orgasm was fast approaching and she clung to him tightly as he pushed her over. Her following cry of pleasure was the loudest yet and she arched her back, thrusting her hips back to bury him deep inside. She tightened, her walls fluttering around him creating extra stimulation. With a groan, he came inside of her.

Slowly, he withdrew from her, his excess seed slickening the inside of her thighs. He laid down beside her, the two of them calming down.

“Bit pent up were we?” She asked him with a smirk.

“Perhaps,” he replied simply. “We’ll be somewhat sore later.”

“I don’t think I can walk,” she said, groaning as she shifted. 

He got up and crossed the room to lock the door. “The last thing we need is someone bursting into see us.”

“Jon knows and Arya suspects,” she reminded him, stifling a small yawn.

He crawled back onto the bed and laid beside her again, their gaze meeting. “What of Jon?”

“He’ll gladly bend the knee to Dany, proclaiming her his queen. She has dragons, so we’ll do the same. We need her for the Long Night,” she explained.

He hummed thoughtfully. “We shall have to prepare your fire before that.”

“Simple - we just need catapults.”

“Very well, we’ll charge the Northerners with building them,” Petyr said, propping himself up on his arms.

She pulled him back down and cuddled him, her arms wrapping around him. “But first a nap is in order,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Petyr wasn’t about to refuse the tantalising offer of a naked nap with his lover and so he stayed put, simply dozing while she fell asleep. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King in the North returns - but is it all smooth sailing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the long break - this year has been a mess for us all, and I hit a bit of a brick wall in regards to this fic - but here's the next chapter.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

Y/N had tasked the Northerners with building catapults. Winter was starting to set in now, a constant chill had settled into even the most weathered of men. She watched as they toiled, using their precious supplies to construct the necessary weaponry. Petyr appeared beside her, two scrolls in hand.

She took them and peered at their seals. One was from the Vale, the other bore the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens. She opened the Vale letter and read the message;

_Sansa,_

_I’ve heard people talking about how winter is upon us, with some whispers being about the army beyond the wall. I...I’m not sure if I want to fight in this war. I don’t think I’m ready. I wish I could be as brave and strong as you are._

_From,_

_Robin_

At the bottom is a drawing of Sansa. The style is a stick figure, with her wearing her armour as her sword is held high. She looks quite impressive for a cartoon warrior. This brought a smile to her face but it was rueful. She opened the other letter, scanning over its contents;

_Lady Sansa of Winterfell,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. The King in the North and I are travelling to you, eliminating the distance that makes talk so difficult. We hope you have space for my children._

_Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons_

  
  


“Dany ‘titles, titles’ Targaryen is travelling here, as is Jon,” Y/N informed him.

Petyr raised an eyebrow. “By the time they get here, the Others will be upon us.”

“I presume she travels by dragon.” She pointed to the line referencing her ‘children’.

“Unless he has Targaryen blood, I doubt a dragon would accept him as a rider.”

“We shall see if R+L=J is confirmed,” Y/N said, ignoring Petyr’s puzzled look.

* * *

A week later, construction was making good progress. Y/N was in the middle of an archery drill when a large shadow blocked out the sun. Two slightly smaller shadows followed, the trio flying across the sky. Needless to say, her students were distracted. Arrows were returned to quivers and bows were slung over shoulders as the soldiers followed Y/N’s lead as she crossed the courtyard. Arya and Brienne were quick to join her, sisters standing side by side as Brienne shadowed them.

The dragons touched down on the snow-covered ground just outside the gates. Jon was already on the ground, striding towards the group. His face lit up upon seeing Arya, the two of them hugging the other tightly. 

“Welcome back brother,” Y/N smiled. Dany, dressed in lighter furs than the others, swiftly made her way over as well. Her silver hair and violet eyes drew their gazes, the men admiring her Valyrian features. Y/N turned to her and gave a small curtsy. “Welcome to the North, your grace.”

Dany bowed her head in return. “Where can my children rest? We have travelled a long way and are tired.”

Y/N glanced over Dany’s shoulder at the dragons. The three of them seemed unbothered by the snow, despite the fact they were giant reptiles. She supposed their fire magic protected them. “We have no room for them inside the castle and the grounds are being used for catapult production.” Dany’s eyebrow twitched at this. “Would they be alright where they are while we find some accommodations?”

“Very well,” she said. Y/N bowed her head and turned, leading the nobles across the courtyard. The soldiers disbursed at the wave of Jon’s hand, returning to their previous tasks. She cast her eyes up to the battlements from where Petyr observed them. He bowed slightly before walking away, most likely under Jon’s glare.

* * *

The Great Hall was warm, something Y/N was more appreciative of these days as winter was now truly setting in. Brienne moved to stand beside the door, acting as their guard. Y/N had prepared a map of Westeros on the high table and led them over to it. Arya and Sansa stood one side of the table, Dany and Jon the other.

She tapped on the map, where The Wall was indicated to be. “This is where we need to be - with our armies in tow.”

“If we try to mobilize the Dothraki, we’ll arrive too late,” Dany said.

“Word needs to be sent to them so they can mobilize for the push South once we return from The Wall.”

“ _If_ we return,” Jon stressed. “The Army of the Undead is no joke.”

“We have our army and three dragons,” Arya pointed out.

“So what are the catapults for?” Dany asked, an eyebrow quirking up.

“Your family developed wildfire, which is now strictly controlled by Cersei, and I managed to create my own version,” Y/N replied.

Jon looked rather surprised. “You did?” 

“Yes. Both Arya and Brienne witness the testing of it.” Both Arya and Brienne nodded to confirm this. Y/N looked at Jon. “How much Dragonglass have you been able to put to use?”  
  


His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not as much as I had hoped. The process was slow going and the method tricky.” 

“Is it worth transporting the Dragonglass here or do we ramp up catapult production?”

Jon looked to Dany who made the executive decision a moment later. “My children are tired and we cannot afford more time wasted on another trip.”  
  


 _Ultimate waste of time,_ Y/N thought bitterly but bowed her head politely. “Your dragons will be helpful in production then.”

“A dragon is not a slave, they will not be ordered about as such,” Dany replied coldly.

Y/N’s gaze rose to meet Dany’s purple eyes. “Your Grace, we _all_ need to pitch in if we stand a cat in seven hells chance of fighting the Others. This means hauling ourselves to the Wall as fast as possible. Your dragons will strain our food supplies and do so more each day they stay here.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment Y/N spoke. “Brienne, please escort her highness to her chamber, we have a private family matter to discuss.”

Jon’s expression turned to confusion and concern and Dany saw no room for argument. She simply left, her black cloak swishing as she followed Brienne. 

“What family matter?” Jon pressed the moment the door closed.

The sisters shared a look and Arya couldn’t hold it back anymore. “It’s Bran! He came home, not too long after you left, and we were all overjoyed. He wasn’t the same, he was the Three-Eyed Raven, and he had all these visions and could see through all of time. Littlefinger gave him a dagger, which he then gifted to me, and everything was fine until he was murdered in his bed! Jon, it was awful…” She broke off with a sob. 

He was quick to comfort her, his gaze turning to Sansa. “Who?”

“No one was ever caught-”

_“Baelish,”_ Jon growled, drawing Long Claw, and made for the door. Y/N blocked the way quickly.

“There’s no proof! Not for him nor anyone.”

Jon’s face darkened. “Sansa, listen very carefully to me; Littlefinger is bad news, _very_ bad news. And so long as I am King in the North, he is not welcome in Winterfell.”

“You would deny him guest right?” She challenged. “The evidence is purely circumstantial and Arya is just as suspect as Petyr if we’re giving weight to the flimsy evidence.” 

“I discount Arya immediately - the wolf would not harm their own.”

“Bran has been laid to rest and we must push on or it will all be for nothing,” she urged. “Now put the bloody sword away.”

Jon did so, his expression a little sullen. Y/N was the first to open the door and leave, her footsteps sounding so loud in her ears. 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catapult production is finished, the plan is set in place, everything is ready. And yet it feels so difficult to acknowledge...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, we are nearing the home run! 
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

Dragons were a great help in finishing the catapults as well as in the production of the ammunition; mostly spherical rocks. Dany’s ire was known but she couldn’t deny the results. And so when the next meeting was called to solidify the war plans, Y/N knew Dany wouldn’t like a certain part of the transport.

Jon and Dany sat at the High Table, occupying the two centre chairs. Arya sat to Dany’s left, Sansa to Jon’s right. The Lords of allied houses and leaders of the various squads were seated at the long tables below them. Petyr was in his usual spot, his grey-green eyes fixed on Y/N when she glanced his way. She waited for Jon to speak, as he held the most authority.

“The catapults are finished, and we are ready to march north to The Wall,” he announced, voice strong in the silence. “Transport for the weaponry will be done by carts-”

“Along with each dragon carrying one catapult as well as duel saddlebags full of ammunition,” Y/N announced. 

Narrowed purple eyes turned to her. “A dragon is not a slave.”

“Dragons will quicken the pace, if not double it, to the Wall and timing is of the essence.”

Dany opened her mouth but Jon spoke first. “There is no room nor time to argue.” He then stood, looking out amongst the men. “Lords, prepare yourselves to march.”

This was met with a railing cry and the mass scraping of chairs as the men quickly left the hall and went out into the yard.

* * *

  
  


Stablehands were quick to bring horses from their stalls and hitch them up to the carts. Catapults were collapsed so they could lie on the carts, the roughly spherical rocks placed next to them. 

Y/N watched from the battlements, alone for once. She lent one the wooden railing, slumping slightly as she gazed from her perch. 

A few minutes passed before she heard approaching footfalls over the sound of shouts, snorts, and whinnies in the yard. A gloved hand ran over the small of her back as Petyr walked behind her. He settled beside her, and the two are quiet for a moment.

“How will it go?” He asked, voice low.

“The phoenix fire will be key to winning with the least amount of losses. Once the Others are defeated, which they should be swiftly but I don’t want to underestimate them, we’ll turn around and head South. Anything we don’t need will be dumped here before we march for King’s Landing.” She paused, shifting slightly. “I...I don’t want you at the Wall.”

He glanced at her. “What’s my role then?”

“Getting everything in order for the march South. We can’t afford any delays so our allies need to be in position to join us as we head for Kings Landing.”

“And will I be coming with?”

She started at this, turning to face him. “It’s a war zone, you could _die_.”

“So could you.”

“I can fight, shoot a bow, I have armour, Ick, and _phoenix fire_ \- what have you got, Petyr?” 

He moved to face her, his hand covered hers and he looked at her with a very serious expression. “There is only one other woman I would die for and I wasn’t able to save her. I can still save you.”

She felt herself tear up at this but it was anger she forced into her voice to make her point. “If we both die, everything will be for naught! We won’t get the throne or become the king and queen of the realm as we planned.”

He turns so that his back is to the courtyard below, pulling her close in front of him. His nose brushes against hers in an Eskimo kiss. “The...the words aren’t easy for me to say, so please listen to what I _can_ say.” She nods and a tear slips down her cheek. He carefully brushes it away with his thumb. “Cry if you want, my love,” he cooed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She rests her forehead against his. They linger for a while, trying to take as much comfort they can from the other. 

* * *

  
  


Her footsteps sounded so loud in the stillness of the crypt. She crept past the statues of long-dead Stark kings, their direwolves carved in stone at their feet. Candles had burned low, wax dripping down, and leaving the place dim. She followed the brightest light source, rounding the corner to see a fresh candle lit at the feet of Eddard.

Knelt before Sansa’s father was Jon. She watches him for a time as he reflects, the flickering flame heightening the contrast between his pale face and dark hair. He only stands once he notices her presence. 

“I’m not his son,” he admits finally, voice gruff.

“I didn’t think Starks could fly dragons,” she japed lightly. 

“I...I had a vision,” Jon begins. “It was so confusing and yet so clear. A lone tower guarded by three Kings Guards was where Eddard found her. Lyanna Stark lay bleeding to death having just delivered a baby. ‘Promise me, Ned,’ she said, her voice as clear as a bell and yet so weak. He held the tiny baby boy in his arms. At the Trident, Robert caved in the breastplate of Rhaegal, killing the dragon prince. Both Lyanna and Rhaegal were dead, leaving their son alone in the world. I looked upon that baby’s face and I knew, I knew instantly, that he was me.”

She walks toward him slowly, footfalls echoing off the stone that surrounded them, stopping once she’d reached his side. “He may not have been your father but he raised you as his own. He never thought about giving you up, despite how eager Robert was to kill all dragonspawn. By blood, you are my cousin, but I will always consider you my brother.”

Touched, Jon hugged Sansa. Y/N felt a pang of guilt but buried it - she was getting too good at doing that.

“Daenerys and I were going to rule side by side,” he said, voice slightly muffled by the embrace. “She the South, I the North. We just...have to save the realm first.”

“Easy as lemon cake,” she jokes.

He pulls back to laugh, his face lighting up in joy. But his expression then turns serious. “Don’t tell Arya. I haven’t mentioned it to her or anyone else yet. I’m not sure how others would take the news.”

“Well, stopping the Others and overthrowing Cersei should endear them to you.”

Jon sighed. “I sure hope so.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final goodbyes are said and the column of riders and carts trek out from Winterfell, following the dragons north, till at last they arrive at their destination. 
> 
> Y/N can only hope this isn't her final destination...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in writing - I got a Switch Lite and Zelda: BOTW for my birthday which rather distracted me truth be told.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

In the early dawn, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the final preparations were being done before their departure. The dragons were stationed at the front of the long column that wound out of the courtyard and to the outer walls of Winterfell. Drogon obediently assisted Dany onto his back. Jon was already atop Rhaegal, high in the air, away from the whispering speculation that began to circle through the troops and nobles. Arya and Brienne were suited up and mounted on their horses, having already ridden off to lead the front of the column. Y/N knew that Sansa was expected to lead too and it was with a heavy heart that the fixed on her armour and turned to say goodbye to Petyr.

She remembers the night before and all the anxiety returned. She had clung to him fiercely, not wanting to sleep as morning would arrive sooner that way. He had held her close and rubbed her back gently, soothing her so she was lulled to sleep. Had she not been so scared perhaps their last night would have been one of great passion.

_No, don’t think of it that way,_ she thought, _we will reunite soon._

He takes her gloved hand in his and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Good luck, my love,” he says in a hushed tone. 

She squeezed his hand tighter than perhaps comfortable. “And you, my king,” she replied, the whisper barely making it past her lips. They stared intently into each other’s eyes for as long as they dared before he let go and stepped back. She wanted to grab him and pull him into a never-ending hug but she couldn’t. She had to go. And so she turned, riding cloak swished, and mounted Icarus. With a light squeeze, he was off at a trot, expertly weaving between the carts as she twisted in the saddle to keep her eyes on Petyr. His gaze remained on her until the walls of Winterfell severed their connection. She turned her focus to the task at hand as they neared the dragons. She craned her neck up and nodded to Jon. He exchanged words with Dany.

“To the Wall!” Dany cried, loud enough for all to hear before she took off, Drogon’s large wings creating quite the gust in the process.

Jon twists to face the column. “Onward,” he commands, voice echoing around the courtyard. Rhaegal then took to the skies, Viserion eager to follow the bigger dragons. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/N made Icarus walk on, setting the column in motion. 

* * *

The pacing was awkward. The dragons could fly for faster and longer than the carts could ride. With time being of the essence and the journey to Castle Black already going to take a week, everyone became tense over time management. Dany was arguing for her and Jon to fly ahead as they could make it to the Wall quicker. Y/N was quick to counter this, asking by what manpower would they operate the catapult and, if they truly could do this themselves, why she didn’t just head to the Wall straight away. The Queen’s face was starting to flush with anger and the King in the North was quick to step in. 

“The plan is to go ahead as previously discussed and agreed,” he said, looking from one woman to the other. “We have no time to squabble amongst ourselves and even less time to waste by not resting when we need. At dawn, we ride again.”

Some days, early in the journey, they would ride through the night too, though that had more issues than benefits. And the further north they trekked, the more the icy winds of Winter took hold of them. Y/N was grateful for just how warm Icarus was, though she supposed her horse’s namesake had flown too close to the sun so it made sense. She was sure to praise her horse and give him pets as they rode. She found her hand became tangled up in his mane, stroking idly to try and calm her mind. It worked sometimes and straining her eyes to spot the dragons amongst the clouds also gave her focus. 

The dragons fascinated her and, though she knew better than to get too close, she studied them whenever they made camp for the night. She took note of how possessive Drogon seemed, how close Rhaegal was to Jon, and how restless Viserion was. Viserion, the only dragon without a rider, seemed desperate to have one. He was most likely to stray from his mother’s side, unnerving both horse and man as he drew too close. He had even sniffed at Y/N once which had caused Icarus to rear with a loud whinny, nearly throwing her off. 

Arya and Brienne had tried to make conversation with Sansa but the words stuck in their throats. War doesn’t grease the wheels of conversation it would seem. She found herself going over the plan, muttering under her breath similar to how Arya rattled off her list. Y/N looked around the encampment. If she were to have a list, everyone here would be on it. Well, everyone she could name at least. That included the dragons. With them Dany would be untouchable and so they had to go. But they were sorely needed for the Wall and at King’s Landing. No, for now they would live. Afterwards...afterwards was a different matter. 

* * *

After a week’s long journey, it was almost a relief to reach the Wall. A fresh wave of fear and guilt burned Y/N’s throat and she soothed Icarus as though he were the one fussing. Jon dismounted Rhaegal and was the one to talk to the Crows as the front of the column swung into the yard and slowed to a halt. Only Dany dismounted and joined Jon, the royals deep in discussion. Y/N fidgeted with the reins in her hands. _They didn’t have time for this._ Icarus whinnied in agreement. The Night’s Watch didn’t seem to take kindly to their ex-commander giving orders but the more pressing matter of the Others swayed them. 

Soon prep was underway. Getting the catapults secured atop the Wall was tricky but the dragons were a great help. Ropes were tied around the catapults and secured to the ice and stone with metal spikes - similar to climbing spikes but sturdier. Next, after the catapult crews were settled, the archers were stationed on the Wall. A mixture of their own soldiers and Crows were their support, helping to light their arrows and run the supply chain from the Wall down. 

It took an ungodly amount of coaxing but the dragons were now patrolling the skies beyond the Wall. Y/N watched from her higher perch, Brienne crouched beside her as her arrow squire of sorts. She controls her breathing, trying to slow her racing heart as her skin prickles with heat beneath her armour despite the freezing cold. She watches as the dragons, mere half shapes in the clouds, fly parallel to the horizon. All is still for what felt like hours, the wind turning any exposed skin red and in danger of getting frostbite. She shifted, stiff from nerves and holding in her starting stance too long. And then, from way off in the distance, she hears it; Drogon’s mighty roar. It sends shock waves through the air, rocking them all, and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. That was it. That was the signal that the Others had been spotted. 

“Ready your positions!” She ordered, voice slightly hoarse from how dry her mouth and throat were. Brienne lit the end of a Phoenix Fire coated arrow, and Y/N notched it, keeping her bow not drawn for now. She squinted at the horizon, not seeing anything through the clouds and snow. 

But the enemy was there. The Others had arrived.


End file.
